


Carving Shadows into Gold

by MyBlackCrimsonRose



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Age Difference, At least as much as I could, Canon Compliant, M/M, Rated for both Violence and Smut, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2020-01-07 02:27:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 37,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18401288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlackCrimsonRose/pseuds/MyBlackCrimsonRose
Summary: Eas Vidal joined the ranks of Blackwatch like most others—Commander Reyes. It was under the guise of a recruitment into Overwatch, back when Vidal was military. Twenty-two and had that sparkling personality that everyone knows him for at twenty-six.And he just never left.





	1. Years: 22 - 27

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been my baby for a long ass time. I haven't combed through this with much editing (kept adding to it), and I still have a few more parts to post (one to actually finish writing... and from there we'll see if its going to be 3 or 4 chapters to this fic). 
> 
> Anyways, please enjoy more boi Vidal.

Eas Vidal joined the ranks of Blackwatch like most others—Commander Reyes. It was under the guise of a recruitment into Overwatch, back when Vidal was military. Twenty-two and had that sparkling personality that everyone knows him for at twenty-six (at that prime of his idiocy). Vidal had been pulled aside; _a word_. And there was Commander Reyes seated in his CO’s office.

Just as wide shouldered, as stern and _large_ (he felt it, for a man shorter than Vidal… he certainly made him feel small), as he’d seen on all the vids and news articles. Vidal stood, posture too lax to be at attention but not at ease either—he was toeing a line. Thumbs hooking through the belt loops at the front of his army issued pants, “Sir.”

“Commander Reyes here has offered you a place in Overwatch,” Vidal raised a brow at that turning towards the man in question.

Vidal’s tongue pressed to the back of his teeth, pushing at them as he glanced between his CO and the Commander. Their expressions spoke all he needed to know—this was serious. This was an actual offer for Vidal to join Overwatch. In his mind he started and halted numerous different statements, but all of them led back to the same theme.

“Permission to speak freely, Sir?” He addressed it primarily to his CO as this was the man directly responsible for him. But he glanced towards Commander Reyes as well. The latter seemed to find this humorous, settling back in his seat and gesturing with a wave of his fingers for Vidal to proceed.

“You may,” his CO covering his mouth with scarred fingers.

And not a moment later Vidal blurted out a, “the fuck does Overwatch want with a Black Ops agent?” And silence. A pin could drop and you’d know the exact tile it landed on. And then, the stupidest thing, both men chuckled.

“I told you he was spirited.” His CO stated, almost fondly, behind his hand. Like that same spirit that he had wasn’t the bane of his existence some days.

-

**[VIDAL – 25YRS]**

Jesse McCree groans, slamming the side of his fist against the mat as Vidal leans over him. Standard issued military boots on either side of his waist. “You gonna be alright there, kid?” he can’t help but grin down at the younger man as he groans.

“When ya said birthday lumps, I didn’t expect twenty-one ass kickin’s.”

Vidal chuckled, “take your lumps.” Punching his shoulder _bam-bam_ before grabbing him by the shirt and heaving him back up. “I’m taking you drinking after this McCree. Twenty-one is a big deal.” At the time it is; it was. Vidal didn’t notice the day he turned twenty-one. He was out in the field, deployed and fighting. That day passed all to quick and slowly—just like all the others during those seven months.

McCree continued to groan, head rolling back as the taller man shook him. “Yer gonna steal all the good ones,” he bemoaned, already knowing how this works. Vidal goes to the bar with a group, he finds someone nice to chat up, they slip away for a bit, Vidal comes back and the next day on base everyone knows he got laid.

“Tinker’s coming with,” he slapped a hand against the meat of Jesse’s shoulder.

“She’s gonna take all the fine girls!” McCree continued to groan. The drama queen. Where did he even get it from? Is this a twenty-one year old thing? Was Vidal like this?

“Okay. Here’s this—I won’t get laid till _you_ get laid. So if you strike out? Then I won’t ditch you. Jesse McCree is gonna have a fan-fucking-tastic birthday… after I lay you the fuck out a few more times cause **fuck** McCree drop your centre of gravity more.” And just like that he shoved him and the man was back on the mat quicker than he could say _ow_.

 

Vidal met the omnic going by the name of Tinker shortly after she arrived at Blackwatch, only a few days passing before those two were as tight as thieves. Many a night those two would spend off and on base, prowling about like a couple of cats. Each of them, individually, a beast on their own… but together? Together they were a monster.

And McCree was spending the night out on the town with them.

“Lose the plaid, you look to _country_ for this scene.” McCree frowns, pulling the blue and black plaid flannel from his chest. The omnic tilts her head, red wig swaying as she takes him in from another angle. Her opinion not changing.

Vidal stood beside her, bare arms crossed over his muscular chest. “The flannel can stay,” he held a hand out towards her, holding her back from saying something before he finished. “But it'll get hot,” which is true. Vidal wore a loose sleeveless shirt (though most of Vidal’s shirts were sleeveless), some band. “The hat has to go though,” that had Tinker nodding along.

“But its **my hat** ,” he stresses. McCree wasn’t **McCree** without this hat. “I **_love_** my hat,” he adds.

Tinker shrugs, “c'mon cowboy we're letting you keep the boots, put on a more form fitting shirt.” Back to the shirt. Those two are trading off—McCree’s tempted to just forego the whole clubbing thing. Screw the whole Vidal’s paying the tab. But… well…

“You've toned up a bunch since you first came to us.” The twenty-five-year-old wraps an arm around McCree’s shoulder, dragging him in close against his side before plucking his cowboy hat from his head and setting it on the dresser. “Show it off,” he winks. Its times like these that McCree gets how Vidal can hook up so easily. _He_ makes these things so easy. “And you don't wanna lose the hat.”

Back to the hat. “I not gonna lose it.”

“You will,” Tinker chimed. “When you're sucking face, and drunk off your ass... you might even forget your name.” She waggles her fingers like she’s performing a magic trick. Like… like abracadabra all your pride and memories are gone~

“And we’re making sure you get plastered,” Vidal winks shooting one finger gun towards Tinker, firing and grinning when the omnic woman returns with one of her own.

…McCree cuts the difference, just to get them to stop. He changes shirts, but keeps the hat. That hat is his baby.

 

McCree frowns behind the lip of Guinness—underage drinking has taught him all about what he liked and disliked in a beer and so far this was his favourite—he had switched from some sort of rum shot after the fifth, but he was thinking of switching back. “So you’re a cowboy?” a man purred, a new one. As the night wore on more started commenting on his hat. Most wanted to wear it—McCree wasn’t having that.

“I recon I ride just as well as any,” McCree replied, taking another swing. The man was leaning too heavily against the bar, a gaze a little too unfocused. He shouldn’t have another drink.

“We should dance cowboy!” The man exclaimed, taking McCree’s hand in his and leading him away. McCree quickly downing as much of his drink as he could before setting it down and forgetting about it. The pair entered the mass of dancing bodies, and all McCree’s sight narrowed down to the man and a wall.

 

Vidal kept his attention divided between McCree and Tinker (who was tucked away in the corner with two lovely looking ladies). He slowly nursed his third rum and coke of the evening, ignoring the eyes the two girls to the left were giving him. Whispering to each other and nudging for the other to say something.

He noticed McCree making his way back out of the crowd, his dancing partner gone. Vidal leaned in, waving a few fingers up at the bartender “another Guinness” when he caught their attention, sliding the money over. The beer sitting, ready for McCree as he returned to Vidal’s side with a sigh.

“Drunk—went white as a sheet and took off towards the restrooms,” the younger man took the offered drink. Closing his eyes in pleasure at the first few pulls. Vidal could see the effects of alcohol in how he stood, all loose limbed and bouncy in his steps. His cheeks a pretty shade of pink.

Vidal plucked McCree’s hat from his head for the second time that night, but instead of setting it elsewhere the man set it upon his own head. “Think it’s the hat attracting the weird ones—I mean, you look kinda twunk-ish.” His gaze dropped, roaming down over the width of his shoulders, the plains of his torso and down to the man thighs hugged just so in those jeans (nothing like the Commander, but anyone would have trouble competing with that).

“Never been called twunk-ish,” McCree hummed, blinking up at the other. _That was his hat_ , he swallowed. Throat bobbing, glass already to his lips as he took another swing.

“Can’t spend all that time running drills and still be a twink,” he leaned against the bar, turning his back to the women still making eyes. The hat tilted low, “so tell me. Look good in cowboy or nah?”

McCree set his glass to the bar top, leaning into the other man. “Haven’t seen you _in_ cowboy yet,” he drawled, lips quirking into a cheeky little grin. Vidal blinked, stunned at the forwardness.

“Y’know, when I said I was gonna help you get laid I wasn’t originally meaning with myself—but if that’s what you want,” he trailed off in a grin. Leaning down the few inches separating them to kiss his cheek. “If you don’t want this just tell me. No hard feelings McCree.”

“I want this.”

Vidal kissed him; his mouth tasting of rum and coke. The stubble on his face course as McCree slid a palm up, holding him close. He smelt good—a mixture of some cologne and campfire. His tongue sliding against his with teasing flicks and exploratory licks. He wasn’t dominating in his kissing; wasn’t angling Jesse’s head one way and the other and cramming his tongue in. The only _guiding_ he did was with a gentle touch to McCree’s neck as they parted for a breath, pressing quick little pecks to his lips before reeling him back in for another.

“We should dance—have some fun before going back to base and letting you fuck me,” Vidal purred when they parted again. Nipping at McCree’s bottom lip, pulling it back. McCree hissed, a shiver crawling up his spine.

 

**02:00**

Vidal squinted, sitting up in his crammed bed. Groaning when the knocking persisted; McCree groaned beside him. Tucking himself further into the corner, pulling the only pillow over his head to stave of the noise. “Fuck,” the elder hissed, pushing himself out of bed and grabbing the first pair of discarded pants on the floor pulling them on and letting them hang loose around his hips.

He only needed to hide his modesty as he allowed the door to slide open. The light in the hallway made him glare, wincing away from it and in turn the person who made him leave his nice comfortable bed in the first place. “Vidal,” the voice had him jolt. Attention narrowing back to the person, focusing in on his commander’s face.

“Commander Reyes, sir.” He swallowed, hands flying to the waist of his pants and ensuring that they weren’t showing _too_ much of himself off to his commanding officer. Sure, he had an inappropriate attraction for his CO, but he was a man with eyes and everyone in Blackwatch at least knew that Commander Reyes was a handsome man. “What do I owe the visit?”

Commander Reyes held up the datapad, “mission.” He glanced over at the body pointedly hidden in the mess of sheets and pillow. “Bring McCree. You’ve got twenty minutes—I’ll debrief you on the way.” Vidal swallowed, nodding the once. The man left after that, leaving the two to blink their hour rest from their eyes and get ready.

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

Overwatch Agents lingered, eyeing the group of Blackwatch Agents seated around the four couches in one of the lounge areas. A plethora of alcoholic beverages littered the coffee table in the middle. Tinker’s feet were tucked between Vidal’s spread legs, his arms spread out along the back of the couch.

There were many things Strike Commander Morrison turned a blind eye to in Blackwatch; the drinking and the fucking being the main two that many Agents did that the CO’s had no business knowing. As long as neither went out of control, then Commander Reyes had their back.

Hudson gestured to the gathered bunch of Blackwatch with her bottle of beer, “if you could fuck one person in Blackwatch-Overwatch, no strings no complications. And I guess assuming everyone is pansexual. Who would it be?” The Overwatch Agents listening in shifted nervously on their feet, looking to each other with wide eyes. “I would personally just love to see if there’s something rammed up Morrison’s ass. But for my own pleasure? I’d go for Reinhart. That man is _mmmmmm_.” She kissed her fingers, “perfect. Those _arms._ Grrr.”

Edwards shrugged, “Dr. Ziegler is waaaay up there.” The man took a swing, crossing his ankles out before him.

Tinker clapped her hands together, “she’s too good for you.” Each work emphasised with a clap. “But I’m _with_ you. Angela is a goddess—befitting that angel look she’s going for. Makes me a devout believer if all angels look like her.”

The group broke out into a series of raising voices—either confirming that yes Dr. Ziegler made trips to the medical bay worthwhile, or no the true Best Girl of Overwatch was Captain Amari. It went on for several minutes, going round and round without any ground being gain. Only for the Overwatch Agents observing to stare like a bunch of gazelles eyeing predators in the wild.

“Hands down; Commander Reyes’,” Vidal stated, cutting through the conversation. At the man’s name the group turned to him before stilling. Hudson coughed, covering her mouth and nose as beer foamed. Edwards made a noise in the back of his throat sounding like a strangled cat. Evens raised a bottle to the figure behind Vidal.

"I don't think you can handle me, Vidal."

Vidal just glanced over the back of the couch, "its a hypothetical question, Sir.” The comedic timing was all too perfect—just his luck really. He can return from a mission without a lick of damage while his partners are limping, but he can’t get away with saying he’s hot for his CO without him turning up. “And in all fairness I'm a man with eyes, and I must respectfully admit that you have a real nice set buns, Sir." And just because he hasn’t toed the line enough today, “running behind you is always a pleasure, Sir.”

Tinker’s fans whirled in the silence, dragging on as the Blackwatch Agents waited to see what their commanding officer would do.

“So, sir. Hypothetically speaking. If you could fuck _anyone_ , no strings no complications and assuming everyone was pansexual, who would you fuck?” Vidal grinned cheekily, noting the micro twitches in Reyes’ expression. The twitch of his brow, the little pull at the corner of his lip.

“Not you,” Commander Reyes answered, finally shaking his head and chuckling.

“Well _that_ ’s not hypothetical! All you need to do is say the word sir, and I’ll rock your world.” Vidal shrugged, still grinning. It made a few of the others chuckle—now that Reyes wasn’t going to fillet him.

“Keep dreaming.”

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

He rubbed the towel over his face, huffing into the cloth as Tinker settled into a lean beside him. “Think we can get away with a betting pool?” she nodded towards the two super soldiers talking on the mats across the room from them.

The pair stretching, most likely going over their own ground rules for their little spar. It wasn’t often Strike Commander Morison and Commander Reyes would spar in front of others. Typically these fights were rumors—only the luckiest of the lucky got to watch two super soldiers duke it out.

“You know who my money’s on,” Vidal grinned, tossing the towel over his shoulder. Crossing his arms over his chest.

Tinker waved him off, “and I’ll double down with you—but we need more.” She straightened suddenly, spotting a few others stopping to stare at the spectacle that was about to begin. “Perfect~,” she rubbed her hands together. “I’ll be back. Gonna go get this pool started!”

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

“With all due respect, Commander, but I think I’d be better suited at this mission than Owens.” Vidal had waited to catch him hours after the meeting—when he was finally alone and Vidal could question _why_ he chose the way he did. Reyes sighed, opening the door to his private quarters and waving Vidal in after him.

The door closing behind them as the lights overhead flickered on. Commander Reyes’ room wasn’t anything spectacular. He had a private bathroom, and a double bed. His own desk filled with paperwork he carried in from his office to stave off sleep. The only personal touch to the room were the picture on his dresser (most likely family) and a barn owl trinket beside his alarm clock.

The older man pointed to the desk chair for Vidal to sit; he did. Observing the man as he tossed his beanie from his head, onto the pillows, and setting the tablet beside him on the bed as he sat heavily. “Why.” Reyes pinched the bridge of his nose, “why do you feel Owens isn’t the right fit?”

“His specialty isn’t his close combat—if he’s compromised he’ll be at a disadvantage. Sure **_I_** had a huge hand in training his hand-to-hand, which is why I should be the one on the floor while he, Conner, and Edwards go grab the intel.” Vidal knows Owens wanted to do this mission—wanted to prove to them all that he could do the covert _spy_ shit. But Vidal just… he couldn’t stand that. “He’s also _garbage_ at charming. Have you not seen him trying to pick up a girl at a bar? It’s a train wreck.”

Reyes’ brow raised; they all know that Commander Reyes hardly leaves the base for a _family reunion_ let alone to go out to some bar. “He’s a member of Blackwatch, Vidal. He can do it.” 

Vidal fingers curled into his black pant legs, pulling at the fabric and he sat forward. “I know he can, Sir. I know we all could, and I know Owens’ been wanting to prove to you that he could handle missions like this. But Sir, if you have the means and options available to you to go for a 5-star meal but instead go for the 3-star, then…” he trailed off with a tilt of his head.

“If shit hits the fan, Owens is less memorable that you are.” Vidal gets it, he does. Owens is a white man, blond hair, 5’11” with no visible scarring. He’ll be at an event with a majority of other white people; rich white folks.

“Okay, sure. But the fact is… I pull off the suit a lot better than he does.” He pressed a hand over his heart, “Sir. If I fuck this up, I would gladly be benched and left for paperwork duty for the next month.”

 

 **_Reyes:_ ** _“you’ll be on your own in there Vidal.”  
**Conner:** “And please, Vidal. We’ll be hearing everything—don’t be a prick.”_

Vidal chuckled to himself, “yeah yeah. Vidal out” pulling the comm from his ear and turning it off. He was still wiretapped, but his way of communications was off, tucked away now in his jacket pocket as he handed over his invite and allowed the guards to pat him down. He was walking in with nothing but his fists.

The guard nodded him in, “have a nice evening sir.” And Vidal nodded in return, righting his suit jacket as he made his way down the main stairs and into the ballroom for the event. He had gelled back his hair for the occasion, neatly slicked back. Earrings tastefully substituted—the bullet shell switched to a gauge and the golden hoops he wore in his right ear on missions returned.

He plucked a chute of Champaign from a waitress’ tray, bringing it to his lips as he took a moment to survey the room. Mentally checking off the notable guests he could get away with not chatting up, and the ones he certainly did. It was like the commander had said—a lot of rich white people.

Vidal found a nice spot close enough to a group of people, but far enough away to not linger. He was biding his time, keeping his eyes to the decor. “I always found that chandelier to be rather grotesque,” there we go. Vidal hummed, turning his attention from the chandelier in question to an elderly gentleman with a younger brunette woman on his arm. _Daughter or second wife_ , Vidal thought.

“All the hanging crystal just makes me think of how horrible it would be if an earthquake hit,” Vidal answered, “or a rowdy teenager in a moment of angst.” The man nodded, all to knowing. Chuckling at some memory that the words brought to mind.

“That would be Oliver—sixteen in two weeks and in the height of that phase.” The man hums and has. “Here I am going on and I’ve yet to introduce myself—though you most likely **have** heard of me.” The man’s groomed facial hair clipped close around his jaw, circling his mouth. “Victor Newman,” he stated, “and this is my daughter Camilla.”

The woman smiled behind her flute. The Newman family had their fingers in many different businesses, and Blackwatch had heard that they’ve been buying and selling to shady organizations—multiple, always changing. Small but growing ones.

“Diaz,” Vidal stated holding his hand out to the man. He hesitated, just a second, before taking Vidal’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to formally meet you Mr. Newman.”

Victor’s lips tightened as he smiled, mouth closed. “A firm handshake you’ve got,” he rubbed his finger together once parting from him. “Did your father teach you that?”

“The army—Pop laid the ground work but I didn’t really learn the importance of a firm handshake until the army.” Victor hummed, eyebrows raised to his hairline. Gaze flicking to the scar. “Yes, before you ask. The scar was from my service.”

The man cleared his throat, looking back to the chandelier. “So what does a man of your background have business here?” Camilla’s lips puckered, clearly displeased by the wording.

“My employer was interested in your wears,” he had planned a few different backstories for himself and the reason he was here depending on who nettled him first. “He wished to see who we were dealing with before any money was to be exchanged—plus,” Vidal grinned, “I look rather dashing in a suit.”

Victor blinked, expression brightening at the promise of business. “Let me introduce you to my brother Daniel then.” It was only a shame they weren’t interested in putting the Newmans out of business but rather after the information on who they were supplying—or it would be all too easy.

 

Another Champaign flute, new company. Vidal chuckled, taking a sip when Erik finished with his story. Madam Evergreen straightened, “we’ve all been curious about the story behind your scar.” Vidal hummed returning the flute to chest level. Another group another series of questions about that scar.

“It’s a long one,” he warned joyfully.

“We’ve got time!” Robert’s hand smacking against his bicep, squeezing. That was the fifth time the man had grabbed his arm; the first led to the widening of his eyes. Surprised to feel the firm definition of muscles beneath his suit jacket.

Vidal shifted, leaning from one foot to the other. “Well lets pretense this with I was young; fifteen. I had a lot of older friends who drove to and from high school. All big guys, football players. Wide shoulders. Well one day I called shotgun,” he gestured to the youngest of the group (a woman named Mary) who nodded understanding the reference (it shouldn’t be difficult but these were ‘elites’ and Vidal didn’t assume they understood most normal things), “and it was a big deal. Youngest, smallest.”

He knows he has them, the sole focus of their attention. Hand gesturing as he spoke, recounting the tale. “So we left the school and Mitch is driving—its his car. Paid for it himself and everything. He’s going a little too fast but everyone did it down that road.” He sets the flute down on the next waiter’s tray, he’ll need two hands soon. “So we’re rounding the bend,” he curves one of his hands, pushing his other along like it was their vehicle, “and this twenty-something year old girl is trying to pass someone. And she’s head on. Not a chance to break.” He punches his fist, that was being used as their vehicle, into his palm. The group startles, “Mitch and the girl are dead on impact. Glass flying everywhere. Didn’t even notice I was bleeding until I was being pulled out of the car—truth be told… I didn’t even realize I was **out** of the car until I was in the ambulance.” 

 

The fact that her name was Ester made Vidal note to tell Tinker about her when he got back to base—she’s _thirty_. There’s an Ester under fifty, thanks. “Wildlife photography. My buddy would like you to believe I wrestled the bear, but I honestly just booked it up a tree. Four-outta-ten. Would not recommend.”

 

Vidal stared out over the man’s shoulder, frown pulling at his features. “Shotty craftmanship,” he stated with a shutter. Memories of the accident that led to his scar returning. The blood, the screaming, then sirens and darkness. _Damn that carpenter._

The three men around him nodded, “those damn craftsmen” one even muttered just as darkly.

 

Oliver Newman catches him, “you don’t seem like the kind of guy my Dad and Uncle normally invite to these things.” He’s a lanky teenager, blond hair curling in wisps. Typically hat hair, curling around where it would normally rest.

“It’s the scar, isn’t it.” Vidal smirked, the right corner of his lip pulling higher than the left. “Got it at a bar one night—a guy was getting handsy with my girl. Couldn’t have that, y’know?” he shrugged. The teenager blinked, mouth parting as he gaped.

“ _Shit_ ,” he whispered.

 

Vidal had slipped from the ballroom shortly after 22:00hr, ducking away to pull out his com. It looked like a regular Bluetooth—easy to blend in with this crowd. “Hey boss,” he settled back against the railing of the balcony. The hedge maze illuminating behind him as he stared at the ball still underway.

**_Reyes:_ ** _“I’m here.”_

Vidal sighed, closing his eyes for a moment and just taking in the outside air. All that perfume, all the dancing and ever watchful eyes. He tilted his head up, back as he rolled his shoulders. “Need me back?” he keeps his side open ended enough. To the people it important to, they think he’s here representing his boss in a business deal, they don’t need to know anything else.

**_Reyes:_ ** _“I can get the car for you in ten.”_

Ten minutes. Fuck that sounds fantastic. “Yeah that’ll work,” he replies just as Camilla is stepping out, gaze searching. “I’ll be ready by then.”

“Diaz!” The woman called out, everything about her brightening. “There you are!” her heels clicked as she made her way over. Slowly when she notice him mumble quietly into the Bluetooth looking device before pocketing in. “I’m sorry was that your boss?”

Vidal lifted one shoulder up in a shrug, “he needed to leave anyways. Expecting me to head out soon. Always busy.” He chuckles, holding out and arm for the woman to take. She does; wrapping her arm in the crook of his elbow and hugging it close.

“You know… I caught you in a bit of a lie.”

Vidal hums, leading her back towards the doors. Pausing to lean down close to her, “which one?” he teases. All too true—he’s been spinning so many lies he wonders if she knows even a fifth of them.

He pale skin flushes, hand cupping her cheek at his closeness. She plays coy well—ever bashful. She’s playing up the attraction; for herself or him, he doesn’t care. “Your scar. Two different military stories, a car accident, a bar fight, wrestled a bear, disarmed a mugger in New York, a bullet wound—just to name a few.”

Vidal chuckled, “are you _really_ that curious?” He pulls the balcony doors open, letting her step into the brightly lit room first before following. She takes his arm again, not caring that he’s making his way to the front. “I have a niece. Before I left to serve I remember watching a lot of Disney princess movies with her—a lot.”

Camilla smiles, “how old?”

“She was five when I left,” he tells her. “I’m the second child of three—my sister’s five years older than I am. But that’s not important.” He smiles, tight lipped and nods at the couple who eyes them as they pass. Vidal’s voice dropping, “well my hair started growing out over seas. And I always thought it was weird how _easily_ Mulan cut her hair. Surely it wasn’t that easy—so I tried it.”

“Noooo,” Camilla stared, lips curling up. “No.”

Vidal ducked his head, slowly nodding. “Yeah. Yeah—not as seen on TV.”

She _laughed_. Doubling over that he had to right her, stilling in their path towards the door. “Shaving,” she hissed between giggles. “ _Shaving!_ ”

“And this is why I have to go with the stories—I can’t go around saying I cut myself shaving. All these socialites will think I’m _soft_.” He hissed back, setting her into another fit of giggles.

“You’re certainly _something_ , Diaz.” Camilla paused, cheeks still laughter flushed. “I know you’re leaving, but…” she removes her arm from his to reach into her clutch. Pulling from it a crisp white card with hand-written numbers on one side in black ink. “I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again—hopefully soon. Either for business or… well, hopefully earlier for… _pleasure_.”

Her fingers lingering in his hand as he accepts the card with her number on it. Falling to tuck her clutch in towards her stomach. Vidal turns it, reading over the numbers in her elegant penmanship. He holds the card up to his lips, letting it linger there like a kiss before winking down at her. “Please tell your Father and Uncle that my employer will be in touch.”

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

“Vidal,” the voice had him straightening. Boots clicking together as he whirled around to face one Jack Morrison, hands at his sides. He will not salute—Overwatch is technically not military, and the protocol for such isn’t followed (but they are. As much as they say they aren’t. They’re military). Vidal mentally has to remind himself of this every time he runs into Captain Amari or the Strike Commander—Overwatch just feels… _different_.

“Sir,” he answered, forcing himself to loosen his stance. To drop his shoulders again; unclench those damn butt-cheeks. Vidal quickly glanced down to his shirt—not the **LET BLACKWATCH FUCK** one, but the whole… **SUCK A DUCK** (yellow on black) isn’t… well he’ll be ready for the talking to now.

Aaaaany minute now.

For Morrison very much did look down to his chest, staring those bright yellow letters down before lowly panning back upwards to Vidal’s face. _Here it comes_ , Vidal thought as Morrison took a breath. “You did well,” so that wasn’t what he was expecting. And the confusion must show. “With the Newman family—I finished going over the transcripts today.”

Vidal blinked, recalling the mission in question— _Newman… Newman… ah. The Diaz cover. Stories._ “The other Agents like to say I have a way with words.” He shrugged, waving off the praise. It was a mission—a mission needs to get done. Any information gained makes it good, and any lack of casualties is a great mission. “Figured Commander Reyes wouldn’t mind me having some fun while I win them over,” Vidal shifted from one foot to the other, “gave the others all the time they needed too.”

“Won you their favour—heard from Reyes that even after you left you were a bit of a topic.”

A good and bad thing.

He can’t ever be anything else but Diaz with them, or the people that know them. If he circles too close as anything else his cover runs the risk of being blown. And as of now Vidal doesn’t know if Reyes wants him to return for a follow up or not. “Don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing,” he chuckles, going for the honest route.

One that Morrison shares, “we’ll see if we can get anything else from them before sending you back.”

Vidal shrugged; up to Reyes, but its nice to hear that Morrison wants him on it. Morrison isn’t a bad guy when he’s not dealing with official business, can get a lil snappy (but don’t they all really). “You know who to talk to,” he spotted Tinker’s bright red wig ducking back behind the corner at the end of the hall. Waiting still like the loyal friend she was.

There was nothing subtle about the colour, and Morrison must have spotted it too. Sighing as he set his knuckles upon a hip. “Go then. It was a pleasure talking with you, Vidal.”

Vidal’s body untensed, the last bunch of nerves releasing as he was dismissed. “And you too, Sir. Have a good day.”

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

They both pause, spotting the other too damn early in the day (is it even technically day? Vidal would consider this night still). Its into the wee hours of the morning, the moon still high overhead with only the rare Overwatch or Blackwatch Agents stuck with the night shift. “Even with your super human abilities, Sir, I don’t think even you can stand that much sugar without it going to your hips.” Vidal spooned another helping of yogurt into his mouth.

Reyes frowned turning back to his coffee in his hand, the large dinner style sugar container spilling into his mug. He grimaced, setting the sugar aside to dump his coffee out and make himself a new cup. The space fell into another silence; Vidal left to his midnight snack of yogurt and canned peaches, and Reyes with making a new cup of coffee without all the sugar.

“Why are you up, Vidal? You’re running drills in the morning.”

He took the empty seat beside the man, ignoring all the others around the table. The slouch in his posture made Reyes uneasy—so unlike the man he was used to. Even bloody and bruised that man would swagger and grin, head high and shoulders back. Vidal slurped back a peach, shrugging. “Dreams aren’t playing nice tonight.” 

“When are they ever?” Reyes muttered, sipping at the steaming beverage. Wincing at the taste; still a little too much sugar. Must have stuck to the bottom of the mug when he poured it out. “You talk to someone about them?”

Vidal’s lips pursed, a shoulder rising. Shrugging. “Not much to have done. They’re about dead people. The ones I knew.” Reyes got it; the dead haunted him too. Made him work to not have those kinds of losses again. “The ones I liked. People I served with, Blackwatch Agents. No shortage in losses.”

“PTSD?”

He shook his head, “nah.” Vidal said around a mouthful of yogurt, swallowing the rest down to speak. “Survivors guilt—or some shit. They didn’t say anything else about possible PTSD.” He looked tired, rhythmly spooning either yogurt or peaches into his mouth.

“You should sleep,” Reyes sighed, cupping his mug between his hands. Hunching over it. Widening his sitting spread till his knee nudged Vidal’s.

The man hummed around the last helping of yogurt, swallowing. “Wouldn’t be able too—too quiet. Alone. Nothing to make my mind focus on until my body knocks itself out again.”

“Then come to my office. I’m going there after this,” he doesn’t know why he’s suggesting it. Its only going to set a president—but damn it, he couldn’t just have one of his men suffering. And this idiot of his went and endeared himself to a lot of others. “It’s a small couch, but its comfortable. And the blanket is clean.”

Vidal smirks behind his spoon of peaches. “Thanks Sir.”

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

Another morning blinking awake on Commander Reyes’ couch, squinting up at the tiles as he tried to place where he’s heard that _tune_. His mother used to play that game back when it first came out—used to tell him that she was becoming _quite the gamer_. “A Candycrush man, huh?” Vidal stretched, toes spreading in his boot. Groaning as he spine popped.

“It passes the time,” the man doesn’t glance up from his game. Swiping at the data pad. Vidal watches him; pushing himself up. The Commander looks _tired_ —like he hasn’t slept since Vidal started crashing on his couch nearly two weeks ago. But a human body can’t _take_ that kind of strain, so he _had_ to have slept. Right? Right.

“You should crash, Commander.” The man glances up from his game, face blank. Its all in the eyes—the disappointment. The cold _I know_ that Vidal gathers. _I know, but I won’t_ is what Vidal really sees. He sees a man who knows he should sleep, but won’t. Vidal’s knees crack as he stands, pushing papers aside on Reyes’ desk to make room for his ass. “I’m saying it again, Sir. **You should sleep**.” There, phrased slightly different.

“You’re toeing the line, Vidal.”

His warning goes unheeded. “You said so yourself yesterday that you were stuck in back-to-back meetings today. We need our Commander to be in his peek **Non-Murdering Mentality** to represent us, sir. So as the un-official, but winner of the popular vote, third-in-command I’m saying that you should put use of that couch and get some Z’s cause a Snickers isn’t going to save anyone from that crappy attitude when you get going.”

Reyes’ brows crease beneath the beanie, gaze hardened. If Vidal was talking like this outside his office the man would put him right down—put him in his place, stop this loose tongue of his so free to run. But this was his office, and Vidal had a point but he’d be damned if he’d let him know that after the Snickers comment. “You say that shit again and, popular vote or not, I will insure you never leave base again.”

Vidal grinned, “that’s sweet Sir, wanting me for yourself. Didn’t know you were that possessive.”

Reyes snarled, shoving his knee away. “Go run drills!” The man saluted lazily, dismounting the desk like a lazy cat. “Fucking eat breakfast too!” He shouted as the door closed.

-

**[VIDAL – 26YRS]**

“Don’t hold back,” Reyes states, rolling his shoulders. He pulls his arms up, fists loosely curled as he rounded. Following Vidal step for step as the man bounced on his feet. The closer Reyes got the more dangerous Vidal was, and the more time he gave him the harder Reyes would have to get the better of the man without turning to the… _enhancements_ he had.

“You fall asleep, old man?” His grin all teeth—all bite. It made Reyes move, darting forward. Breaking that tentative peace they had between them. Fights like this weren’t all just body, most were with your head. How to hit, where to hit. Do you grab, do you push or pull. Do you dodge or punch or kick.

Reyes feels his thigh smarting from a kick, and in return, a punch tucking just under Vidal’s block. It left a moment, a small brief opening in his defense for a solid punch to his face. Knocking his teeth together, hissing between them.

They’ve been trading; little taps, smacks here or there. Vidal’s kicks were brutal, hitting and hooking. Daring him to trip. Throwing him off balance, but never striking in that moment—prolonging it like a cat playing with a mouse.

Hair sticking to his sweat slicked brow, the collar of his army green tank darkened with it. Reyes watched as one drop of sweat bead from his brow, dropping to Vidal’s eye. The man’s eye closing, annoyance clear—this was a moment. A break, a crack. A _distraction_ as he blinked away the sting of sweat. Reyes dropped, lowering his center of slamming his shoulder into the man’s torso. Clearing him off his feet and onto the mat.

Vidal landed with a “fuck” punctuated with the expel of air from his lungs. His arms up, blocking Reyes’ swing as the man followed him down. His legs wrapped high around Reyes’ torso, thighs grasping. Clenching with enough force that it made him feel the creek in his ribs. He hadn’t pinned him quick enough, the man too squirmy. “Y’know, sir, this would be the perfect excuse to cop a feel.”

Reyes snarled, swinging again at the block Vidal threw up to catch him. Large calloused hands wrapped around his wrist, tugging him down at an angle. Throwing his balance off just as Vidal’s legs loosened it hold, and instead throwing one over his shoulder and the other tucking right under his armpit in one of the most perfect displays of a triangle choke hold.

“I mean… that certainly feels like _something_ ,” his voice dips painfully deep as his legs lock behind Reyes’ head, “wants a little action.” Reyes would snark back about the erection in his face if not for the fact that oxygen was getting a little limited. It was the adrenalin—its an adrenalin erection. Nothing to do with the fact that he’s pinned between a man’s thighs who he may or may not feel a little attraction for.

Reyes clenched his eyes closed; there’s a few ways to get out of this hold. Mostly its about overpowering, slam him against the ground. And Reyes has the strength to do it—Vidal will call bullshit on it, but that’s what he gets. “Give up, sir?” Vidal cooed, tightening his hold.

The smug little shit.

He forced himself high onto his knees, lifting Vidal with him. The man’s eyes widening with understanding, and then Reyes was slamming him back down onto the mats. His hold loosened enough for Reyes’ escape—the man didn’t go far. Sucking in a lungful of air, chest heaving and the man beside him wheezed. “No fair. Superpowers are _bullshit_.”

He cracked a grin, “working with what I got, Vidal.” The man cursed him out, throwing in the occasional _sir_ to play it off as him still be respectful. Reyes could almost roll his eyes at that; but that would just give him satisfaction.

-

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

“I’m surprised they’re taking lunch,” McCree stated, falling into the seat beside him. Vidal’s gaze finding the pair in question. Morrison and Reyes taking lunch in the Mess; Morrison’s head dipping as he brought the back of his hand up. Covering his mouth to hide the chuckle.

Vidal stabbed the cut of chicken from his pasta, ignoring the fleeting thought of acknowledgement that Jack Morrison looked good—there. Vidal thought it. _Jack Morrison was attractive_. Still a dick, but white boy had a nice smile. “Its nice to see,” Vidal answered, stuffing the chicken into his gob before he could sneak anything else in. Like a— _fuck Commander Reyes looks good without the sweater_. Cause that’s where Vidal’s mind was stalling.

Those wide dark shoulders, the healed skin of a scar peaking out from under the back of Reyes’ grey tank top. Did he wear this type of shirt under all the layers normally? Cause… damn. _Damn._

“—to Vidal.”

He blinked, snapping away from that bit of exposed back peeking out between Reyes’ shirt and the back of his pants. “Whut?” Vidal huffed, hunching over his food. _Just look at the table,_ he thought. _Let the damn man eat in piece_.

“Reyes’ birthday is in November—the third.” McCree grinned, resting his chin upon his fist. Brown brows waggling. It was the seventh of October now. Vidal’s eyes narrowed; the lil shit. Asshole catches him zoning out while staring at their CO a handful of times, and now he thinks he could tease him for it.

 _Jokes on him_. Vidal was already thinking of perfectly acceptable things to gift their Boss for his birthday.

Booze.

Reyes looked like a guy who’d need a stiff drink after all the shit he sees.

-

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

“What do you want Vidal?” The man in question shrugged, walking with practiced ease to his commanding officer’s desk. Revealing the object he had so carefully kept concealed behind his back. A cupcake; swirled with black and white icing. It lacked the candle, but in its stead was a **HAPPY BIRTHDAY** decal stabbed into the top.

“Heard it was your birthday, sir.” He set the desert beside the papers Reyes had been hunched over. “Figured you didn’t want us to make a big thing of it—but I couldn’t just let you get through the day without hear it at least once.” Vidal smiled, “Happy Birthday Commander Reyes.”

Reyes blinked, glancing between the cupcake sitting innocently on his desk to the man who gave it. Looking towards the digital calendar he had also placed along the corner, noting that it _was_ in fact his birthday. **[NOVEMBER 3 RD] **_Shit_ , he blinked, _Rosa’s going to call tonight_.

“You forgot your birthday,” the man’s disbelief caught his attention pulling him from his musing.

“It’s been busy,” is what Reyes settles with. He shouldn’t have to explain it to Vidal. The man knows that there’s ships leaving daily for new assignment—Tinker’s out on one without him, and those two are joined at the hip. But even then he _shouldn’t_ have to explain it to him, shouldn’t _have to_ defend himself to him. Vidal isn’t his superior, and Reyes tries to keep his own favouritism from showing (for both Vidal and McCree but those are two different types of favouritism).

Vidal’s brow arches, cocking a hip out to lean against the corner of his desk as he crosses his thick arms over his chest. “I’m sure Morrison can handle a night without you there holding his hands through paperwork so you can sleep in your bed rather than that couch.” He should know all about that couch; he’s taken to sleeping on it once a week for the last two and a half months. He sighed, “want me to smuggle you in some whiskey? Birthday drink and all that.”

“The fact that you’re telling me this so easily makes it seem that even with me knowing I couldn’t do anything to stop you.”

Vidal grins, back to that cheeky smug grin of his. “We’re all being responsible. Plus, you look like you need a stiff drink and I _know for a fact_ that you’re not leaving the base to get it.” Years of turning down the subordinates who’d ask are finally sticking with Vidal. Gabriel Reyes doesn’t leave the base unless its for a meeting or a mission.

A shame.

“I won’t be apposed if I find a nice Bourbon on my desk by this evening.” Vidal winks, touching the tip of his forefinger to the tip of his nose. He had a sway in his step; it drew in the gaze. “If I’m not here bring it to my quarters,” he added—he was going to do something stupid. So so stupid.

_But its **was** his birthday._

 

Ten minutes after Rosa left him to his own devices Vidal comes knocking. Three sharp raps to his door alerts him of his guest. Reyes doesn’t bother checking before he places his hand upon the reader and the door slides open. A bottle of Bourbon with a red bow tied around the neck and two tumblers greet him as the man holds either out. “I’m a little surprised to see you not in your office, Commander.”

Reyes rolls his eyes; very visible and very much over the top. “Just get in here.” Vidal ducks his head to hide that biting grin back; not quick enough as he passes for Reyes not to huff at. Letting the door slide close behind him. “I wasn’t expecting company for this drink,” he says instead, least he brings up some other undesirable topic to light.

The man sets the glasses onto the desk, holding the bottle of whiskey out for Reyes to do the honors. “Isn’t it more socially acceptable to drink with company?” Vidal teased, watching as Reyes took the bottle in hand and carefully uncapped it. Giving the whiskey a quick sniff.

Just like how he remembered it; the hint of vanilla, oak. And then the _burn_. Val was never able to smell it—just smelt like _strong whiskey_ is what she said.

He poured out a fair amount between the two tumblers, returning the lid and handed one of the glasses to Vidal. The man raised his and they touched glasses, bringing them to their lips for a drink. Vidal closed one eye with a sigh. “Whiskey drinker?”

The man hummed, taking a seat at the corner of Reyes’ double bed. “Jack Daniels is always the poison of choice,” Vidal shrugged holding the drink to his lips and swallowing another sip. With the man taking the end of the bed it left a few spots for Reyes to sit—he could go respectfully and take his desk chair. Keep his distance. Or he can sit on his bed; its is _his bed_ after all.

He took the bed.

Punching his pillow up Reyes reclined back in a nice relaxing lean, socked covered toes sliding over the sheets and nudging Vidal’s thigh. “Either move or be used as a foot rest, Vidal.” Vidal snorted, allowing the latter.

They drank in silence, for awhile. Finishing one glass, then refilling and starting anew. It was… nice. Not having to do anything, not having to talk or perform—no documents to read, no missions to approve. No Morrison to fight with. “I’m surprised you were actually here,” Vidal whispers, like he knew anything more would shatter the peace. Reyes’ eyes opened, gaze honed on the man before him. Whiskey tumbler held easily between his fingers while the other hovered over Reyes’ feet thrown into his lap.

“My sister would nag me if she saw I was still in the office.”

Vidal smiles; soft, easy. Smiling seems to come easy for him—the left side lifting more than the right. It made it seem smug, even when nothing else screamed of it. “You have a sister?” still soft, open, as he finally lays his hand on Reyes’ ankle. Fingers curling around it. His hands are hot. Burning in a blossoming fashion, a slow burn. An equally as slow spread.

“I have three.”

Vidal brightens; softens again in an almost smothered _glow_. Reyes remember then that Vidal has sisters too—how many again? Two or three? “Younger or older?” He’s too happy about this, too honest. If he keeps this up (if he keeps looking at him like this) he’ll kiss him. Gabriel Reyes was a strong man, he had to be. But he was still a man with bouts of weakness, and Vidal was steadily becoming one of the largest.

“Both. One older and two younger. Rosa, the youngest, is the one who butts her nose into everything though.” Vidal hummed, the sound urging him on. Reyes took another sip before continuing. “Val, the oldest, has a son—David. He’s three months old now. Val’s a gardener, works at a nursey or something. She was always big about doing Mom’s gardens growing up.”

Vidal shifted, moving Reyes’ feet from his lap and shuffling up to the head of the bed to lean against the headboard beside him. Temple resting against the dark wood, glass cradled between two dark hands. “The last I heard about Mari she was going through for her doctorate—medical science. She wanted to be the first Doctor in the Reyes family.” The man shrugged, draining the last of his drink with that. “Then its Rosa—she does metalwork. Sculpting.”

Vidal drains the rest of his glass as Reyes reaches for the bottle for a refill. “What about your folks?”

“My Father’s former military—lost his leg from the knee down. Does security on weekends at the local college to feel like he’s young again. Mom’s working at the same bakery she always has, since she was seventeen. Owned by a family friend.”

They fall into another lull of silence; the slow seep of alcohol makes the company easy. And time seem to mean nothing. “I’m the eldest of four,” Vidal finally speaks eyes still closed, “only son. We’re all pretty close in age.” He tells him this so softly, like breathing. Thoughtless in his sharing. “Lucia’s… _shit_ , she’s a piece of work. Rebellious—such a shit disturber. I was the angry one growing up, but she was the one who’d slam doors or start fights in school just because she could. My Dad always though she hung the damn moon though, and she knew she had him wrapped around her pinkie.”

A sip. “Mia’s always been shy, real quiet except with the people she’s comfortable with. She’d follow me around all the time, hold on to the back of my shirt or my hand when we were at the store or going to play. We were always close before,” he glanced down to the liquid in the glass. Swirling it around before bringing it to his lips and swallowing a fair bit of it down. “When she found out about me joining the army she stopped talking to me—only started when I came back from the six-month deployment. And that was because she needed to. Never emailed, never wanted to talk when I was able to call home. Even when I was back home sleeping in the basement she wanted nothing to do with me—at least she was talking to me again then.

“It was after the second tour was fifteen months and I just kinda showed up to the house. I didn’t really want to bother them coming to pick me up like last time. I was just tired and still a little soar and I was mad jonesing from that futon in the basement. I’m in the uniform still, bag over my shoulder and Mia just opens the door and just… bawls. ‘ _You didn’t say anything to anyone!_ ’ she yelled at me. I had stopped writing about four months into my deployment, figured fuck it. They didn’t want to hear from me, they never really did much talking last time either.

“Turns out she thought distancing herself from me would make it hurt less.” There’s always someone who doesn’t want you following down the military line—Reyes had his own siblings like that. “She didn’t leave my side that night. Slept with me like we were kids again. Mia’s… she’s come to accept me being Overwatch. Helps that I get leave to visit and tend to make it a point to visit on her birthday. But we’re… better. Not like before, but okay.”

“What about the other one?”

“Emma,” he tells him. Providing the name. “Though she also goes by her middle name: Sofia. Mom had issues deciding which she wanted to use so even in regular conversation she switches it up.” Vidal shrugged. Never really getting it though he’s started doing the same. “Emma is a people person—always out of the house when she’s allowed to, over at friends. Or she’d have people over. There was the five of them, I used to crash their sleepovers and just lay on the bed all ‘ _Oh my god~ Like, that boy! Gabriel! He’s so cute~’_ ” The name wasn’t lost of him, nor was the batting of the eyelashes directed at him. But it must be the alcohol, cause Reyes actually _chuckled_ at that. “She’s a big drama queen though, its good that she’s always taken it in school. Got in for a scholarship with that too.”

Another lull; this one filled with leveled observation. Gaze tracing over features, taking it each hair of facial hair, the scars, the colour of their eyes. “I’m going to do something extremely idiotic, Vidal.” He set his now empty glass aside before taking Vidal’s and doing the same.

“I doubt that, _sir_.”

Reyes shifted, hand lifting to cup the other’s face. Thumb caressing over the stubble that grew in along his jaw, under his lip. Brushing over a full, plump bottom lip. The action drawing it out, showing a peek of pearly whites before the man parted them further to touch the tip of his tongue to it. Too deliberate to simply be licking his lips. “Vidal,” Reyes started, the man’s name catching deep in his throat as arousal blossomed. Fanning out through his limbs.

“Eas,” the man sighed, long lashes fluttering against the swell of his cheeks. Lips parted, breathing onto Reyes’ saliva moistened thumb. He could see his eyes flicking back and forth beneath his eyelids. Waiting.

“Gabe,” Reyes added just as privately. Pulling his thumb away from the man’s lips so he could finally— _finally!_ —kiss him. The man melted against him as lips pressed, parting just a breath. Just far enough that air could part them, and only that, before Reyes surged in again. Guiding Vidal’s head to a tilt, making it easier to deepen. Their breath tasted of whiskey, seeped in it as their tongues pressed and slid together. Exploring, teasing.

Vidal broke away with a moan, “please tell me you’re going to let me suck you off.” Reyes’ chuckled, lips pressing to the tender flesh under the man’s jaw and down his neck. Nipping at the beautifully dark skin and sucking. “Or fuck me—fucking me is really good. I’m down for that—whatever the birthday boy is down for.”

Reyes grinned, hiding it against Vidal’s covered shoulder. “How about you get naked first and we’ll see where that leaves us.” Vidal only grins at that, taking Reyes’ face in his hands and guiding him up so he could press one more kiss to his lips.

“You get naked too, Gabe.” He rolled Reyes onto his back, pushing and pawing at his chest till he kneeled above him, legs spread on either side of Reyes’ waist. “Or do you want me to give you a show?” he purred, reaching back and pulling his shirt over his head whipping the fabric towards the connected bathroom. His fingers returning to trace over the tight fabric of Reyes’ black shirt. “How about we get you outta this?”

So impatient.

Reyes sits back up, pushing Vidal down lower on his hips so he’s seated firmly against his crotch. Holding his arms up above his head, Vidal’s quick to peel the fabric off and toss it aside like he had his own. Reyes groans as the man’s hands slide down his chest. Nails combing through the hair on his chest—it grows in a bit of a triangle formation, hair only returning again under his bellybutton and trailing down.

“Pants, Eas.” And the man rocked back, grinding down against Reyes’ cock with a wicked crooked grin. Tongue poking out between rows of teeth. “ _Eas_ ,” Reyes hissed, hands flying down the man’s pants gripping and pulling at the belt until it sat free.

“Impatient—who’d have thought?” _He_ was teasing _Reyes_ for being impatient. Oh how the tides turned.

He pushed at Reyes’ chest, pawing until the man eased back to the bed before sliding down the length of his body. Trailing kisses and nips to the skin as he passed, hiked himself out of bed to shed himself the rest of his clothing—pulling briefs down with his pants to avoid the fuss later. But in his moment of undressing he took his gaze from Reyes, the alcohol made him a sway a little further to one side, for when he glanced back the man was throwing his own garments away.

“Huh.”

Standing there, in all his naked and battle-scarred glory was one Gabriel Rafeal Reyes. And Vidal… swallowed thickly. Blinking. Blinking again just to ensure that this wasn’t just some dream. It wasn’t. He was still there.

Reyes huffed, “ _‘huh.’_ ” He rolled his eyes, head tilting back as Vidal crowded back into his space. Looming over him in those four inches. Reyes’ hands finding his hips, dragging him in. “For years you’ve been talking a big game Eas, and when you finally get me naked all you got is a **huh**.” His lips twitched upwards, baring teeth in teasing grin.

“Brain’s kinda trying to reboot again, Gabe. Sorry I’m a lil speechless; trying to wrap my mind around how I got a man this handsome to agree to fuck me.” He grinned, cradling Reyes’ head in both hands before leaning in. Kissing him. Swaying into his hold as the man held him close, every glorious inch of skin pressing together. “I could get lost,” he sighed, “in kissing you.”

Reyes hummed in agreement. Rubbing easy, slow circles on Vidal’s hips with his thumbs. “How about you get back in bed and I’ll show you something else you’ll get lost in.”

Vidal grinned, brows waggling as he leered. Drawing back as the elder of the pair swatted at his hip, urging him to quicken. “’m going. I’m going~” he chuckled, diving back into the sheets and stretching out. All long dark limbs. Wide back. His hips held, arching up off the mattress as he threw a wink over his shoulder. Widening his knees with absolutely no hint of shame.

His mattress dipped under his weight, creaking as Reyes settled between the man’s spread legs. Calloused hands finding purchase on Vidal’s shoulder blades. Applying his weight; slow. A slow ease. A press on hidden knots, tension in muscles. Pulling a groan from Vidal as he slid his hands down the great wide expanse of shoulders, down the length of his back. Following the dip of his waist, pushing those hips down. “You’re no cat in heat.”

“Feel like if I was going through some sort of heat I’d get dicked a lot quicker.” He replied; so quick to retort. _Cheeky_ , Reyes dipped his head mouthing down the length of his spine. Following that groove south, much like his hands before. “Gabe—” he started, feeling the man part his cheeks. His breath fanning out along his skin.

“ _Gabriel,_ ” he breathed, breath rushing from his lungs at the first pass of his tongue. Fingers curling. Sighing as the man parted, teeth dragging over the swell of a cheek and nipping. Holding the flesh until little intents formed. “I have to sit on that,” Vidal hissed, pressing his hips back. Rocking against the man’s face.

Maybe is was the alcohol showing itself anew, muddling time around him down to Gabriel’s mouth, his tongue, and hands. Vidal’s very focus narrowed to the finger pressing in, easing itself slowing into the man. “Lube,” he panted.

“That fucked out that you didn’t hear it?” Fuck that voice. Low in the man’s chest, lust hanging from every individual word like honey. Gabriel kissed up his back, over the discolouration of scars, over the wide expanse of dark skin—up and up he went until teeth met neck.

Eas chuckled soundlessly, “too busy feelin’” the man purred. Catching his lip between teeth as Gabe pushed in another finger. “C’mon baby,” he whined, rolling those hips back. Meeting the slow drag of fingers, that easy stretch. “Another—I can take more.”

He pressed a smirk to the man’s shoulder, kissing the flesh. Keeping that same easy slow pace despite the other man’s words. It was _his_ birthday. _He_ was the one who wanted to finger fuck him slowly, opening the man up nice and sweet for his cock.

Gabriel hummed, kissing and nipping at the flesh closest. Brown eyes watching the twitch of muscles, the arch of hips pushing back against his hand. Eagerly—greedy in the man’s lust. So Gabriel gave him another and watched keenly as the man sighed and melted into his covers. Panting and moaning so pretty into his sheets, his name never sounded so sweet as it rolled from that tongue. “Gabe,” and “Gabriel.” The name a prayer.

“I’m good—I’m ready. Fuck me,” Eas cursed, reaching back to nudge his hand away. Gabriel huffed, slowly easing his fingers out of the man. Wiping his hand off on the man’s thigh as he kneeled, then pushed himself up and off the bed. “Gabe?” the man’s voice called from the bed, eyebrows scrunched together as Gabe ducked into the adjoining bathroom and grabbing the mouthwash.

He twisted the cap from the top, watching the man as he pulled a swig from it and swished. Swallowing it down with a scrunch of his nose. “I want to see you,” is all he said upon return. Fresh breathed and wandering hands, pushing and prodding. Rolling Eas over onto his back to lean over. Pressing kisses against the stubble on his jaw.

“Romantic,” the other purred, fingers curling against Gabe’s head. Sliding down to curl behind his neck as the man reached for the foiled wrapper, opening it and rolling it down with length without further fanfare. “Gonna make love to me, Gabriel Reyes?” the man kissed him, cradling his face as Reyes slicked himself up.

Brown and gold met, holding as Gabriel eased himself in. Slow, so so painfully slow. Sighing into a new kiss, the pair clung. Holding each other still as they drank in the situation, the feeling. Lips meeting for one soft lingering peck after the other.

Gabriel didn’t need to answer.  


	2. Years: 27 - 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 3 is still being written so it might take awhile until the next update. 
> 
> And some things in this chapter aren't really up to date with the new released lore (Storm Rising), but I really really didn't feel like combing through it all and trying to fix that. 
> 
> \--there may be some errors in here, its a big ass chapter and when I try to edit I get distracted by shiny stuff lol. Or the art I've had commissioned for this. Or both

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

Waking up to his cheek pressed to Gabriel’s naked chest, Eas’ leg wove between his. The memory of it kept him through the last six days. Out on a mission with Brent, Zhan, and Carver. Scouting. Long, boring work sitting out in the wilderness with two snipers and a pair of binoculars. Marking down rotation of guards, who came in and out, how many people and who they were.

Zhan was good at that—knew things. Smart woman, little serious even during off hours. Wasn’t much of a social lady, but Vidal liked her all the same. Liked working with her, they did well together in stealth operations. That silenced pistol of her mixed with her hacking prowess made her a fantastic partner to have for intel missions.

Shame that their orders weren’t for entry in this one.

 _“I spy with my little eye…”_ one of them had started sometime during the second day. Zhan’s datapad dying out on the third day where she switched to traditional notes and kept tract of observations. Day three Carver started naming the pigeons on the rooftop while Vidal mumbled soap opera-like lines for the very people they were observing.

The days dragged on, and the walk to the evac point felt longer. It was just a long-drawn-out mission with his thoughts elsewhere.

“First thing I do when we get back is take a shower,” Brent rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he leaned back. The seats in the drop ship the most comfortable thing they’ve seen in nearly a week. Vidal was already starting to fall asleep.

“I would hope so,” Zhan huffed, her signature cherry coloured bubble gum returned to her. “I didn’t want to say anything out there, but you need to start packing more deodorant.” Carver snickered from his seat, hood pulled low over his face but leaving that grin exposed.

“Hey! There’s only so much I can work with out there!” Their easy bickering lulling Vidal further into a snooze. He needed to talk to Reyes when he gets back; sooner rather than later. And he wanted to be fully mentally functional during it.

 

“Commander Reyes wants to see you,” Owens found him in the middle of stripping out of his foul-smelling gear. He’d elected to go for Brent’s route—figured if he wanted to press his luck and lean in for a _welcome back_ smooch it’ll be better received if he smelt fresh instead of like he was out in the woods for six days laying around. “…Maybe after you’re done though,” the man quickly looked away, clearing his throat when the sound of Vidal’s pants and belt fell to the ground.

“Is he in his office?” The man drawled, naked now and unashamed as he struts around the younger agent and made his way to the showers. Toiletries and towel tucked under an arm, leaving the other free to wave the man after him.

“Uhhhhh,” Owens kept his gaze averted as he followed, turning his back when the man entered the stall—always a good day when one of those are free. “Yeah. Don’t know if he’s got any meeting though, so don’t keep him waiting.”

He wasn’t planning on it. “Yeah yeah. Thanks for the heads up.”

 

The door slid open just as Reyes was pushing himself up and out of his seat. “I hope you weren’t waiting for me, sir.” Vidal stepped in, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as the door closed behind him. Sealing them in the room, alone, for the first time since their night together. “Thought you’d rather I’d wash the mission off,” he licked at his lips, watching the man round his desk only to lean back against it.

Reyes rolled his wrist, beckoning him closer. And Vidal went like the well-trained pup he was. Slinking up to the man until Reyes’ hand pressed against the center of his chest. Halting further progress; he could kiss him. If he’d thought he’d get away with it. Vidal wanted to kiss him—so much he could taste it.

Tasted like whiskey and mouthwash.

“We should talk about that night,” Reyes started, dark brown eyes sweeping over Vidal’s features. From his face, down his neck, to the chest beneath his hand.

“I don’t regret it,” he was quick to retort. “I don’t know if you realize this, Gabriel, but I’ve got a huge fucking crush on you—and its been there for years.” His hand covered his, holding it to his chest as he tested. Pushed against it. Reyes allowed one step before solidifying—unyielding further ground.

“I’m your commanding officer,” Reyes replied. Brows furrowing as the statement didn’t seem to draw a care from the younger man. “I’m _seventeen years older than you_!” He all but snarled, “doesn’t that bother you? What would your family think? Your friends.”

Vidal frowned, “It bothers you.” His fingers curl over Reyes’, unsure if he wants to just hold his hand or pull it away. They curl and uncurl, confused as his brain shorted through the baggage of those few short sentences. “My friends are in Blackwatch, and they’re all damn aware of how long I’ve carried this torch.” He doesn’t mention family, that’s not important now. His family would be happy if _he’s_ happy. “I’m fine with the sixteen-nearly-seventeen-thank-you-very-much years between us, its never really been a thing I thought about that’ll be a problem.”

They stared the other down, counting down the seconds in the back of their mind.

_Tick. Tock. Tick…_

Reyes’ shoulders dropped, sighing the man curled his fingers against the fabric of Vidal’s shirt. Tugging on it until the man crowded against him, their forehead’s pressing together. “You’ve thought of the negatives have you?”

“Power Imbalance—you’re my boss,” Vidal shrugged, hands finding purchase on the man’s hips. His heart pounding a mile-a-minute in his chest. Waiting with baited breath that something would all go to shit and he’d lose this. “What the UN would say, what Morrison would say. Do you even like men? And if you did, if you even thought about _me_. I could ruin your career with this—you spent so fucking much to get here that I don’t want to ruin it just because I went and caught feelings.”

“I do,” he answered, gloved covered hands rubbing over Vidal’s arms. Up and over his shoulders, holding him close. Curling into the neck of his shirt. “Like men—think of you too.” Reyes sighed, “I don’t want to pressure you or make you uncomfortable with this.”

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you again these last six days—fuck, since I had to get out of your bed that morning. Trust me when I say you’re _very fucking much_ not pressuring me into doing anything right now other than talking where I want to be kissing.” The other man huffed, smirking that smug little grin of his. “Can I kiss you?”

Reyes blinked, gaze dropping to Vidal’s lips then back up. His jaw tensed before parting, “tell me I’m not forcing you.” Vidal read it for what it was; an out. Reyes was giving him an out for this. All of this. This was a man so concerned for the what-ifs and all the wrongs that could happen, planning for the worst case, that he didn’t believe something good would happen.

Well fuck that—Vidal spent years trying to get to this moment.

“You’re not forcing me, Gabe.” He rubbed their noses together. “Please can I kiss you?”

“Yes.”

**-**

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

He raised his head, squinting at the device ringing from Gabe’s desk. The other man shifted, cursing as he removed himself from Vidal’s sleepy grasp. “Go back to sleep Eas,” he told him, large hand engulfing the side of his face and nudging him back down to the vacant spot that he had once been. Vidal pouted over the loss of his pillow, eyes already closing again before Gabe could even answer the tablet.

 _“Gabe. I don’t know who else to go to,”_ it was the youngest Reyes’ sibling. Rosa.

Vidal was out again before he could catch anything further.

-

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

Dating Gabriel Reyes wasn’t simple. They couldn’t exactly _date_ , for one. He’s still Vidal’s commanding officer and thus it’s a power imbalance—if the UN, or _fuck_ , **Morrison** caught wind of it shit would hit the fan. On the outside they’d think Reyes forced it, pressured him or some shit. Not hearing anything else, or how Vidal was the one to pursuit him and proposition him. Or how it built up over years of banter than some (re: Tinker) would call flirting.

They couldn’t leave base to go have dinner, or cuddle and bask in that Honeymoon phase glow, or _call each other by their first names_. Some nights Vidal would have slip into his own quarters and sneak out to make for Reyes when he ditched his company (Owens and Smith need to stop walking with him, it’s getting _real_ old).

Blackwatch was suspicious though—it’s hard to hide shit from Blackwatch Agents. At least from the gossipy ones. Or Tinker. Vidal doesn’t **want** to hide shit from her, so he doesn’t—can’t really. They’ve agreed to that rule. No matter how shitty; how horrible or dangerous it is. Don’t hide shit from each other.

It also doesn’t help that Vidal still keeps with the flirting, that borderline insubordination, in front of everyone. Playing it up when an Overwatch Agent is nearby; _Look what Blackwatch can do that **you** can’t_. It’s petty, but that’s the Blackwatch vs. Overwatch rivalry they’ve got.

But if anyone else suspected? None mentioned a thing (‘cept Tink, but we all know she’s his Best Gal).

Not even McCree.

 

“Have I ever told you the story of how I got this scar, Sir?” His head slides against the headrest of the drop ship, staring at the man beneath hooded eyes. It was a larger operation, a mixture of Blackwatch and Overwatch Agents. They’ll be playing at Overwatch Agents tonight, only the group of six Blackwatch Agents will break away to collect the true objective while Overwatch takes the group into custody.

“I’ve heard about twenty different stories of how you got that scar, Vidal.” The man reminds him, bringing up that mission Vidal had pulled strings to change the lineup. He’s almost forgotten about it—that was a fun night.

When they first stepped onto the ship Reyes had taken the seat closest to the door; away from where most of the others tended to group up to seat. Vidal had taken the chance to take the open seat beside him even though there were many more spots to choose from.

“All lies, Sir.” Reyes hums; his own little signal for Vidal to carry on. He’s got his attention—peaked his curiosity. “I signed up for the army right out of High School,” this Reyes already knew. If it wasn’t in his file, Vidal had also said it a few times in passing. It’s something Reyes and Vidal had in common. “Didn’t tell them for awhile; thought... fuck, I don’t know. That I’d save them the pain? That it’ll be easier to live with the idea if I was already leaving.”

The huff says it all—how stupid it sounds. Vidal gets it, thinking back on it now. It does sound really fucking stupid.

“I was leaving for Basic in a week and I told my Mum. She was baking; one of my sisters were having friends over that night and she asked for snacks. Mum had the day off and always liked having an excuse for sweets.” Vidal was _there_ , seeing the scene again. Like he was eighteen again instead of twenty-seven. “I walked into the kitchen and just kinda lingered in the doorway like I _knew_ I was guilty—you know that look right? Your sisters must have had that kinda look. Mari looks the type.”

Reyes rolled his eyes, settling in his seat. “My mother could _smell_ the guilt on them—they were horrible actors. Worse liars.” The corner of Vidal’s lips twitched, “Val and I used to tell them that they needed to lie better—they were already used to us.”

“The drawback of being a younger sibling,” Vidal grinned. He was the first, but he’s heard all about it from his younger sisters. His expression sobered. “Mum had just turned to me as soon as she spotted me and was all ‘what did you do _now_ ’. So I told her—I never saw my mother cry like that. I’ve seen her scared, when she thought she’d lost my sister Lucia and I in the store. But this was something else, Gabe.” He says the man’s name so quietly, no one should hear. No one _could’ve_.

Reyes’ eyes softened; dark eyes unwavering as he urged him to continue. They were in public, a mixture of Overwatch and Blackwatch Agents around them. Vidal really should’ve told this in a better place.

“She was hysterical; screaming. Crying. Throwing shit—anything really. Food, utensils. Mostly at me, or _around me_. She used to yell at us for playing with our food as kids; flicking peas across the table. That’s what I kept thinking the whole time. _Hypocrite_.” He was such a piece of shit at eighteen. Thinking about that instead of the emotions behind his hysterical mother. “Mia was upstairs in her room and came running down just as Mum threw the pan at me; there’s these jagged ass corners on it so that must have been what nicked me. But Mia comes down and runs to Mom yelling, asking what’s going on as she just wraps her up. So I have to tell _her_ now—and _she’s_ bawling.

I can feel the blood flowing, but I just think _I can’t have them see this_. So I can’t look at them—even when Mom seems to get a hold of herself to start asking all the shit that kinda steeled myself for. All _you could go to college_. I didn’t get scholarships, didn’t even know what I wanted to do. _We could’ve paid._ We don’t have the money—we don’t even have a big enough house for Mia and Emma to have their own rooms.” He still doesn’t even know why he was thinking about this in the first place.

Reyes sighed, “Do you regret it?”

Vidal shook his head, “nah.” He stared out over the mix of Agents before him. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if I didn’t join. Never really saw myself doing much of anything—maybe working as a mechanic.” He shrugged.

-

**[VIDAL – 27YRS]**

Vidal had been stabbed before. It’s to be expected when your go-to weapon are knives and you think yourself a little bit invincible. You’re so close to the other person that you can watch the life bleed from their eyes, feel their blood between your fingers.

He had grabbed the knife from his belt (not one of Vidal’s of course), slamming it up between his fourth and fifth rib on his right side. It lodges, catching as Vidal continues to strangle the life from the man. His legs spasming, fingers curling and clawing at Vidal’s.

Vidal can’t _breathe—_ he can, but it hurts. It **always** hurts. The impact had forced the air from his lungs, and with every second he could feel blood trickle in. His breath shakes as he tries to inhale, coughing at the blood pooling in one of his lungs. The only good at this moment is the dead man between his thighs; face purpled, blotched and ugly. “Sir,” he wheezed, finger pressing against his earpiece as he slowly lays himself out beside the man. Cautious of the knife handle protruding from his side.

If he takes it out he might damn well bleed out. Did it hit an artery? Will he drown in it even if he doesn’t take it out? **Fuck**.

**_Reyes:_ ** _“Vidal.”_

His voice has him relax—as much as he could. Head lolling against the flooring; coughing out a glob of gross lung blood towards the dead man. “I need evac,” he pushed out, chest rising and falling as he fought for breath. Between the pain and the blood; his vision was spotting.

**_Reyes:_ ** _“Who’s closest?”_

**_Edwards:_ ** _“I’ll grab him, sir.”_

Vidal choked, coughing—his com connection active. “Gonna,” he spat, “just lay here then.” Every word a struggle, a push between clenched teeth. They all had their roles, and he couldn’t expect them to drop it all just cause of this. He was just another Agent, and the mission was too important to fail. But he wished Reyes was the one coming for him. Wished that he’d be the one to grab his face and tell him _stay with me, Eas._

“He’s not looking good, sir.” Edwards. Vidal eyes fought to focus, squinting up at the blond man slapping a hand to Vidal’s cheek.

**_Bridgens:_ ** _“How bad are we talkin’ here?”_

 

He comes too momentarily with a gasp as the knife is unlodged from his lung, blood spewing from his mouth in the coughing exhale. “It’ll be okay Vidal, you’ll be okay.” The warm tingly feeling of a biotic field pressed to his side, slowing the bleeding.

Vidal slips back into nothing moments later.

 

Vidal wakes in a hospital bed, teeth clenching together at the pull in his side as he shifts. Taking in one big lungful and groaning at the feeling of two functional lungs. “I see you’re finally awake,” the good doctor states. Vidal tenses, eyes slowly peeling open to stare at the woman. “You gave your team quite the concern.”

He grunts.

“We had to reinflate your lung, but fortunately the knife did not hit an artery so a small blessing. I’m sure you don’t see it as such, of course. But you’re set for a full recovery. The biotic field has sped your natural healing factor, so the wound will fully close in roughly a week.” She tucks her clipboard beneath her arm, hip resting against the bed. “Now, _you will not_ participate in training during that time, and only if I deem you fit will you begin again. And **don’t even think** about missions. We’ll ease you back in with training, and from those results I will inform Commander Reyes if you’re fit.”

Vidal melts into the bed with a frown. “Yeah, yeah Doc. I get it. Thanks.”

“Vidal,” Dr. Ziegler’s tone had him focusing. “You know how the biotic field leaves a patient exhausted afterwards—your body is still doing it natural healing but with a _push_. Your energy levels will be drained for a while; so when I tell you to rest, please _heed it_.”

His shoulders drooped, sinking further into the bed. “I get it Doc. Thanks for everything.”

 

Two hours later Tinker _falls_ into the room, Ankle-Bitter skidding across the floor. Barking in that familiar sharp tone. “You’re awake!” she cries, pushing up from the tile and leaping onto the foot of the bed. “You goddamn gave me a heart attack!”

“Your heart doesn’t work like that, Tink.” He couldn’t help but smile, stretching an arm out that wasn’t connected to the IV drip for her to tuck herself into. “The good Doctor told me I’ve been out for a day and a half—what did I miss?”

Her sound box hummed as the Omnic settled into his side, her bright red wig tickling his arm as she shifted. “Well the Commander has been stomping around more; he’s got an impressive frown going on too. I’ve heard from the Overwatch rumor mill that he and the Strike Commander has been going toe-to-toe on _things_. No one knows that they’re arguing about, but last night I saw a real brutal super-strength show down in the ring. Was supposed to be private but there had to be like twenty of us watching. Captain Amari shooed us off before I could win any money—betting on Blackwatch all the way.”

Vidal placed a kiss to the soft hairs of her wing, pulling her in tighter and setting his cheek upon her head. “What have _you_ been up to with me not being able to visit?”

She tapped her finger to the yellow-gold of her face plate, the place where her mouth would most likely be. “McCree had me add spurs to his boots—he jingles now. His shoes still look kinda... well, heels-ish. I think he likes being tall.” Vidal hummed; everyone seemed to have a thing with wanting to be tall in Blackwatch. _Vidal’s_ tall, but it’s honestly how you hold yourself. Reyes felt taller than he was—Vidal _always_ felt small near him. “Got this Moon Ball yesterday and chucked it during dinner. It nearly took out Torbjorn! Shame it missed.”

“Damn fucking shame,” he parroted sleepily. He didn’t want it, wanted to stay awake for her visit. But Tinker was comfortable, she was _family_. His best friend. He felt safe with her; at peace. And he was _fucking exhausted_. “Tell me more,” he urged, “how was that date?”

“Date went well. No Mrs. Tinker though, we’ll see about a second date next week.” His eyes were fighting with him. Close—snap open. Close— _stay open_. “She has a kid at home—don’t know if I can handle that. Don’t think it’ll last much longer than maybe a third date.”

“I’m too big of your baby to think about taking care of another, huh?” He chuckled to himself, nuzzling against her hair. She’s gonna smack him for messing it, but that’s future Vidal’s problem. For now he’s got his Best Gal, he’s alive, and Reyes is most likely going to hear about him waking up and lurk around somewhere that’ll make it look like he’s not playing favourites.

“Right as always~”

 

 **0200HRS ...** or after that.

With their relationship still so _new_ , anything could pose a threat—more than just their job and what it entails. With Reyes being his superior it comes with the _position of power_ , and he’s also older than Vidal—something that does occasionally annoy him when his youngest sister, Rosa, makes the passing comment of her being older than Vidal by a few years.

But from the side of Overwatch and the UN, _office relationships_ (even Jack and Ana pretend that nothing sexual happens amongst their lot as long as it’s discrete) are prohibited. It’s an easily exploited weakness if someone knew what to look for.

“He’s been asleep for the last four hours,” the voice startles him, whole body tensing. Freezing in the middle of closing the door behind him. He spots her, in the shadow of Vidal, only bits of the moon seeping in through the blinds reflecting off her fingers or casting a glow over the silvery bits of her face. Her robotic dog tucked up into her lap, clearly sleeping or it’ll be _blaring_.

Reyes closed the door with a soft click. It’s only Tinker—Vidal _told_ Tinker. He trusts her, so Reyes would too. More than he does simply because she’s a member of his team. “So you’ve just been sitting there,” he drawled eyebrow raising, hiding behind his hat as he closes the distance to the foot of the bed with two easy strides. Rounding it to the side with the chair; he’ll linger for awhile. While he can.

Tinker shrugged; small, controlled to not disturb the man slumbering on. “They wouldn’t let me in until he woke up. Plus, he’s cuddly—you know that. _No one_ can say no to Vidal cuddles, not once you know how great they are.”

Reyes rolls his eyes almost back in his head at how much sass he threw into the action. _Vidal Propaganda at its finest,_ he thought (the tone too fond). “Did he tell you anything about his condition?” he inquired between a large lapse in silence. Neither wants Vidal to wake.

“Nah. He had me talking the whole time—said he needed rest though. Figured he’d tell me, or I’d go get my hands on his medical documents if he wanted to be an idiot and push himself.” She states it so easily. “I don’t know much about surviving a stabbing, but I figured knife plus lung equals ouchie and **stay in bed you idiotic fool**.”

He snorts, “Something like that. Yes.” Reyes settles in for the long game, knees spreading as he slouched down further in the chair. “His lung deflated. But the knife missed any major arteries so the risk of drowning was lessened.”

 _‘Who’s closest?’_ He remembers saying that in the field. Shrugging off and burying that sudden spike of fear when Vidal, breathless, demanded an Evac. Reyes could have just as easily shrugged off his duty onto one of the other agents to take care of him; he has done so before. Yet he _didn’t_.

Another reason why he’s stayed away for so long, he knows, is because he feels that he doesn’t _deserve_ to see him.

-

**[VIDAL – 28YRS]**

Two survivors—only two. “They knew where we were, what we wanted. **They knew** ,” Edwards stressed, fingers digging into the meat of Vidal’s bicep as medical took Owens and made to take him as well. “Captain Ross is dead.” The news makes Vidal reel; Captain Ross was Gabe’s second—she has been since Vidal joined Blackwatch.

Vidal may not have been close to her and he hardly saw her on base as she was Gabriel’s go to operative for reconnaissance and undercover work—she was _always_ on a case. Working one after the other until she had to burn her cover and lay low at another Overwatch branch before taking on another assignment.

But Captain Ross was... she was a great woman.

Her dedication, her drive... it inspired so many of them. But, Vidal knew that her distance did confuse things. A chain in command was typically followed, and with one key piece constantly missing it put a stressor on all the others—Vidal being one of them (he wasn’t itching for a promotion. Not even a little. But he’s got rookies looking to him, and he’s got Agents who’ve been here longer than him turning to him asking him to give a word to the Commander... it’s a little damn confusing).

 _This is gonna destroy Gabe,_ Vidal thought as he helped Edwards into the medical personnel’s capable hands. His blond hair stained at the temple with copper blood, face splotched with it. He’ll be out of commission for awhile—if not for the injures then at least the trauma.

Hudson’s leaning against the side of her ship, combing her hands through her hair. Chocolate brown eyes honing in on Vidal, like his gaze drew her’s. She nodded, holding a hand out and beckoning him over. She was the one that had to pick them up from that mess. “I hate to bring it up,” she starts with a sigh as soon as he’s close, “but there’s gonna be a mad shuffle of the ranks in the next month.”

Morrison’s gonna be needing a new name for Reyes’ second.

“It’s not McCree or I,” he tells her. Gabe may have a soft spot for that boy, and he may be trying to comb him into a leadership spot. But McCree’s still too young—he’s not ready yet. Hudson raises a brow. “It’s _not_ ,” he stressed.

“Yeah, not the kid. But **you** —you’ve always been a good runner up.” Vidal rolls his eyes. “I’m serious Vidal, bring it up to the Commander, or someone from Overwatch and they’d agree. Reyes _listens_ to you. Even if you’re sassing him out about his choice of _utility belts_.”

And that’s why Vidal can’t be in that position. He’s **sleeping** with Reyes now. Maybe if they were still balancing act that Tink called mutual attraction, then _maybe_ , maybe he would have dove at the chance of promotion.

“Hughes or Brent are better at the politics part, they’re friendlier with the Overwatch side, and they’re damn good at their job. Reyes needs people like that.” He leans back against the ship leaning over to tucks his hands between his knees.

The big thing lays in the fact that if shit goes down (cause Gabriel plans for _everything)_ then if he’s the Second, Vidal would be dragged out into the public and all his actions would be called upon. _“Public opinion is brutal, Eas. I don’t want you to be saddled with it if shit goes horribly wrong.”_ Gabriel’s words only phrased in a number of different ways from different conversations leading back to that same very thing.

“You can charm a dead rat back to life, Vidal.” Hudson gives Reyes a run for his money with the eyerolling alone. “Just... think about it. I know a handle of us would agree when you step up for the promotion.” The thought is nice... and the support.

But not now.

-

**[VIDAL – 28YRS]**

He spared a glance down the hall (nothing) before stepping into the office, pausing as the door closed behind him to just… take in the scene before him. He’s been finding the man like this more often; hunched over his desk pouring over reports. Trying to figure out what lead to Ross’ death.

Vidal sighed, boots thumping along as he walked. Rounding the desk to stand beside the seated man, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “You should sleep,” he whispered, smoothing his hand over his lover’s shoulders. “The papers’ll still be there when you wake up,” a hand left the man’s shoulder to drag a finger over the screen of Reyes’ datapad. Awakening it, showing off the time. Those golden-hazel eyes turn back to him, “…in five hours.”

“I can’t just—”

“—then sleep on the couch,” he nodded towards the worn leather thing, “I’ll pull out your blanket.” He moved to disengage when Reyes’ fingers wrapped around his, tugging him back until he was draping himself over the man like a love interest in a drama. Vidal hummed, resting his head upon the man’s shoulder.

They lingered; Reyes’ eyes fighting to open. “Will you stay?” With one last push those dark brown eyes opened, looking up at him through his lashes. Those bags beneath his eyes like bruises—stress getting to him.

Vidal glanced towards the couch. “I’d rather carry you back to our room—but yeah.” He pulled away, “Yeah I’ll stay with you, but you’re gonna be the pillow in this arrangement.”

-

**[VIDAL – 28YRS]**

Hughes got the promotion.

**-**

**[VIDAL – 28YRS]**

Vidal remembers the first time Reyes received an assassination mission signed and approved of by Strike Commander Morrison that had nothing to do with some shady organization (that they knew of). No real message to be sent to these Warlords that _we’re coming_ —this felt... **not right**. “Jack what are you _doing_ ,” he hissed, leaning forward over his desk. Hand covering the bottom half of his face, brows furrowed.

Vidal stood, rounding the back of the desk, hand curling around the back of the man’s neck to sweep a soothing thumb over the soft prickle of stubble hidden by his hat. Leaning over the man’s wide shoulder, Vidal read over the document. A cold spread in his veins, his expression hardening as he looked to his Commander—his lover—and went “I’ll take it.”

Vidal is not unfamiliar with the job of killing—he doesn’t like it. But it’s that signed order from Golden Boy of Overwatch that makes Vidal feel that no one else should know of it yet. “I’ll handle—“

“No. _I’ll do this mission Gabriel,_ ” he tightens his grip on the back of the man’s neck. Just for a moment before releasing. “This isn’t my first assassination, Gabe. And Hughes is too new to the spot to run the joint without you here.”

Reyes glares, staring off at the rows of filing cabinets across from them. “I don’t _want_ you to do this, Eas.”

The man sighed, wrapping his arms around him instead, nuzzling the side of his neck. “We can’t let the others know about this just yet—this could change how they see us and how they see Morrison. With you and him butting heads more, we can’t afford anymore strain. And I already saw the document; I’m capable in these types of assignments. And I’m just a hell of a lot more quiet than you are.”

 

The CFO of Wijet Pharmaceuticals was found dead in his car on APRIL 16th (a day after Reyes allowed Vidal to take the mission); throat cut.

**-**

**[VIDAL – 28YRS]**

He’s tired; everything’s _tired_. His body aches, his head feels muddled. Vidal knows he looks just as shitty as he feels—Tinker told him that as soon as he stumbled into Mess this morning and spent ten minutes just staring at the juice machine instead of bee-lining right to the coffee like he normally did.

Even the fresh batch of Rookies notice he’s out of it—throwing glances his way as they run through the drills he put them through daily before they could be sent out on any missions. They have standards here in Blackwatch that they have to maintain. And Vidal would be damn sure that he isn’t sending them out just to get their asses handed to them (or worse).

He rubbed a hand over his face (his fingers shook), pinching at the bridge of his nose. “That’s enough,” he called out to them, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his forehead and sliding it up into his hair. “Go break for something to eat—you’re reporting to Captain Hughes at 14:00HRS.” He felt like he was underwater as he turned away from them, catching himself as he stepped into the locker room. The wall felt nice against his forehead; things felt righted at that moment.

 

Vidal shivered, cold sweat pooling into the back of his tight orange tank top. “You should go lay down,” Owens leaned over, setting a hand on Vidal’s naked shoulder. “You’re burning up.”

He didn’t _feel_ hot—not in his normal _hella attractive_ way either. He felt like he got run over and slam-dunked into the back of a garbage truck. “Busy,” he frowned, his palms digging into his eye sockets as he leaned further against the table. “Need to start my report on that mess from last week,” he’s been pushing it back as much as he could. But Gabriel was getting snappy, cause _Morrison_ was getting snappy and it was stressing Vidal out on top of all the missions.

All Vidal wanted was Reyes sleeping in his own damn room sometime this week instead of the couch in his office. He was getting real lonely without the man; had taken to sleeping in his own damn room too. Even had to go and clean off the dust. “The paperwork can wait, man,” Edwards hissed, leaning in across the table.

“What could wait?”

Vidal’s groan broke into a pitiful whine at the introduction of that familiar voice; Reyes. He missed him, and he just wanted to drape himself over the man and demand to be held—like a big whiny child. _Fuck I am sick,_ he thought to himself. “Vidal’s sick, sir, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

He just admitted it to himself moments before—suck it Owens. Reyes’ palm touched the back of Vidal’s neck, and the man melted into the touch. Shoulder’s slumping and head bowing. His hand pushed Vidal’s away from his face, cupping over his forehead. “You’re warm,” he stated, agreeing with the others that Vidal was not healthy.

Damn them all.

“’m fine,” he bit back the use of his name. It came so easily. “Gotta work on that report you wanted,” he added staring down at the untouched food he had grabbed to attempt to eat. All he touched was the bottled water. The hand on his forehead angled his head back until all he saw was Reyes.

“I’ll carry you to that damn bed myself, Vidal.”

That sounded nice. Have his arms around him, lifting him without even a bat of an eyelash. Toss him into  
bed (Gabe’s bed. Always Gabe’s bed) and maybe allow himself a few moments to just lay out beside him. Maybe Vidal could be the little spoon. “Will you be joining me, Gabriel?”

Oh fuck.

A flex of fingers against his shirt, the widening of Reyes’ eyes when Owen spewed coffee across the table. It all solidified that thought— ** _oh shit_**. He flirted, yes. But the name was new—the ease of which he said it. Edwards was piecing it together; he had been one of the ones betting against any relationship.

“You’re such a little shit,” Reyes sighed, grip tightening on his shirt. “Why are you suddenly hell-bent on that damn report? You’ve shrugged it off for four days already.”

Vidal pouted; he could feel any mucus that had been gathering in his nostrils slowly seep down the back of his throat the longer Reyes had him stuck this way. This was starting to feel real cuddly—it was nice. Looking at Reyes was _great_. Even with the snot and the aches and pains and the cold sweat sticking to the back of his shirt. “Figured it’ll get you to stop sleeping in your office,” he continued pouting, “ _I miss you._ ”

He already blew up that crater, might as well lay in the hole for a bit and enjoy the mess.

The time ticked down—tick. Tick. Tick. It must be a fever ‘cause Vidal would swear that he could hear the seconds tick by. Waiting for Reyes to mention anything about his little slip—scold him. The longer he’s drawing it out the more Vidal assumes he’s going to chew him out for it.

But Reyes sighed, “c’mon.”

 

Three days later Vidal’s wearing Reyes’ sweater—its very obviously Reyes’. It’s a little too short in the sleeves and torso area, but its warmer than anything Vidal owns for sweaters and it’s got the Blackwatch label on it and the best—the **best part** —was that it smelt like Gabe.

Vidal’s cold lingers; clinging to his sinuses and in his bones. He’s just waiting for the cold pills to kick in—he’s gotten by yesterday with them, and he’s doing better today so it’ll damn well work again.

“Its true,” McCree catches him as he’s staring at the coffee pot. _Someone fucking didn’t put on a new batch_. “You and Reyes are a thing.”

Vidal grunted, blinking slowly at the younger man. “Wasn’t official till late November of last year,” he still sounds horrid. Nasally—a little like he chain-smoked a pack of cigarettes. He had a little coughing fit this morning. “You could see how it would look on the outside, yeah?”

McCree’s nose scrunched, “I recon its why you didn’t take that promotion. Yeah?”

 _Perspective little shit,_ Vidal thought, turning away from the conversation once the pot finished brewing and glorious caffeine was ready for his consumption. _Fuck yes._

-

**[VIDAL – 29YRS]**

_“One day I want to see you in lingerie,”_ Gabriel had said once. A comment thrown away in a bout of passion as he kissed a path down his neck, down his chest before taking Vidal’s cock in hand (and then the mouth followed).

It had stayed with Vidal for months, stewing it over. Trying to figure out if he should order it online or leave base and just visit a store close by on his next leave. But the pondering was pushed aside until it resurfaced again in February. 

“You and Reyes doing anything for Valentine’s Day?” McCree drawled, fork in the middle of stabbing a piece of broccoli. Vidal blinked; _today was February 1 st_. SHIT! He slapped his hand against the table, rattling his own diner. “Soooo… no?”

Vidal pushed his chair back, plucking his finished dishes up. “Just remembered I have a plan.” He paused, mid-second away from turning, Vidal slapped the lip of McCree’s hat over his eyes. Couldn’t help himself, the guy made it so damn easy. “Thanks for the reminder McCree.”

He was going to buy the fucking sexiest lingerie and he was going to get laid.

 

But a surprise appeared much earlier than that—one that swept the legs out from under him. Had rattled his very bones.

Every Valentine’s Day Morrison would delegate at least one _flower delivery tour guide_ to show the poor poor sap(s) who had to deliver flowers to the people at the base. Back when Vidal was twenty-six and recovering from a nasty mission (bullet wounds even when healed majority by bio-technology still needed rest time) Reyes had him run around the base with the omnic man that had been sent with a trolley full of flowers. It took the better part of three hours to finish that job.

“You’re winding too far back to throw those punches,” Vidal pushed at the man, frowning when he went stumbling back. “On top of it leaving you wide open, its throwing your balance off. If they don’t hit you first in that time, they’re certainly knock you on your ass.”

“VIDAL!!” At the sound of his voice the man turned, leaning forward with a squint as Vernon raised his hand up and waved him in. “Flower delivery for you! Looks like you’ve got an admirer.”

Vidal blinked, holding a hand up to the rookie he’d been running through the ropes (hand-to-hand training with the rookies was one of his favourite times of the week). “Go watch Brex and Noble; tell Brex drop his form. I’ll be back.” He wasn’t expecting flowers—he’s never gotten flowers before. People normally gave him rum, or joke sexy shit—the flamingo thong was a riot. But flowers?

Vidal approached the woman holding out a large bouquet; roses of oranges, reds, creams, and salmons(?) contained in a dark vase. “I don’t have my wallet or I’d tip,” he started, taking the flowers and adjusting his hold until he found a card—there had to be one, right?

There was—tiny, stock white with a stylized symbol on it. Transferred over carefully. Vidal knew the symbol anywhere. _Fucking Gabe,_ he thought feelings the grin break out over his lips. At first Vidal had thought it was a skull, stylized but still a skull, but the longer he’d grown familiar with it the more he could see the barn owl design.

“Don’t worry sir, its all taken care of!” The woman smiled, turning around and moving on to her next delivery.

 

The flowers sat in a place of honor on the dresser, right there in the open as Reyes entered. Pausing as the door whooshed shut behind him. He won’t admit it, but Reyes was hoping that Vidal would beeline to his office after receiving the flowers to question him on them—but nothing. Instead he got a message from his lover in thanks then a follow up one telling him when to meet up at their room for.

“Eas?” Reyes called out, setting his electronics aside. Eyeing the closed door to the bathroom when a thump rattled the frame.

“Give me a second!” his lover called through the wood, “go sit down or something. I’m almost done.” It made Reyes’ eyes narrow, quickly darting away to take in the rest of the room for anything else he might’ve missed. _He was up to something_.

The only thing he could spot that was different from this morning were the flowers and the drawstring sack most used for their laundry—upon checking (via sniff test) it was clean. Eas had done their laundry.

The bathroom door clicked open, “okay so don’t laugh.” And Reyes turned. Blinking. Mouth parting as blood rose to his cheeks, burning high along the cheekbones. Laughing was the last thing Reyes was thinking about doing. Eas rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, leaning a lace covered hip against the doorframe. “They only had white left,” his hand hooked around his neck, holding onto himself as his gaze dropped then darted back up to Reyes’ face.

White was more than fine.

He crossed the distance in three, catching Eas by the arm and tugging him away from the bathroom. “You look good,” he swallowed, looking the younger man over once more. Now closer—now able to admire the _finest_ of details. And fine they were—garter belt hooked onto white stockings, matching panties that (when Eas turned to show) were in fact assless. The only thing not white nor lace was the pretty red bow wrapped around the man’s throat.  

“Figured I’d bottom,” Eas grinned, glancing over his shoulder as Reyes’ hands gripped his hips. Tongue poking out between his teeth. “I gotta thank you for the flowers after all.”

-

**[VIDAL – 29YRS]**

Vidal holds the knife up, balanced on the tip of his finger. Ankle-Bitter wheeled around his legs, no longer barking since his arrival but energized still by his presence. “We’re finally getting our own head Doctor here in Blackwatch—I’m not too sure if I’m happy about that.” He spills, finally. Attention divided between his knife and his friend hunched over her work station. “Reyes is going to be reporting to her for checkups now,” he presses his tongue to his teeth.

“Not happy about a new lady getting all up in the Commander’s business?” Tinker teased, not pausing in her work. She was on a deadline—wouldn’t tell him what she’s working on. _A surprise_ , she had said. “Never knew you were the possessive type~” She cooed.

Vidal snorted, “You know I’m not. I just... she just sets off some flags is all.” He flicked his finger up, watching the knife fly before catching it by the hilt and sheathing it at his hip. “I read her file and honestly, it looks like she’s joining because we don’t want her experiments to get in anyone else’s hands—and she only _agreed_ because we have state of the art equipment.”

“It’s not so different than **my** ‘recruitment’. I didn’t exactly join without a firm prompting from O.W. and crew. You know that—you were there.” That he was. It was a long day, hard to forget—plus, it makes for an interesting story if anyone asks how they started their friendship. All ‘yeah I was going to have to arrest her if she didn’t agree. No biggie.’

“Mark my words Tink. One day you’ll get where I’m coming from!”

-

**[VIDAL – 29YRS]**

Hughes sighed, falling into the seat beside Vidal. “I don’t see how you can date that man,” he set his head back on Vidal’s outstretched arm. Some have tried to curb him of the habit but have given up—Vidal’s arms just simply like bringing others in close. Plus, if you sit close to his hand the man would mindlessly start giving you a bit of a massage.

And Hughes needed one after that meeting between Reyes and Morrison—how Amari could stand it for so long only made Hughes think all the higher of the woman. She’s a _Goddess_. Not just a Saint.

“His kisses make my inner organs all gooey—like real fluffy. Like marshmallows after you microwave them for a bit,” he stats easily. Thumb turning the page of a well loved book.

Hughes had to just _look_ at him after that—that was... wow. Real sweet, but also a little gross when you think of it. He’s heard of the fluttery feelings, and the feeling light. But the gooey was new. Hughes’ wife would get a kick out of that one when he called her that night. “I’m surprised you didn’t say something like... his ass is a religion and I’m a religious man. Or, something about his thighs—you’re always going on about them.”

He glanced up from his book, eyebrow raised, “But that’s too easy, sir.” A wink, followed by a tongue poking out between his teeth as he grinned. “But I can talk all about what physical features I adore most about our boss, if that’s what you want?”

Hughes shook his head, “no. No this is good!”

-

**[VIDAL – 29YRS]**

The bed rocked, slamming against the wall like a tidal wave. At its center? A melodramatic Gabriel Reyes groaning into the pillows. The other man in the room raised his brow, toothbrush held up between thumb and forefinger as he watched the growing dramatics of his sweetheart. “I thought you and Morrison were gonna just ‘hang out like you used to’ and leave work outta it.”

“We did.” Vidal’s brow arched further as he plopped that toothbrush back into his mouth. Gabriel sighed, rolling onto his back. Throwing his hand over his eyes. “Jack and his boyfriend broke up—admirably, but _still_.”

Vidal choked, “Morrison had a boyfriend?”

Gabriel’s eye peaked out from beneath his arm, “Jack _only_ has boyfriends—and I shouldn’t be spreading this shit.” Vidal raised a hand; he’s not about to share Morrison’s sexual preferences. It’s got nothing to do with work, and it won’t ever.

Vidal returned to the bathroom, spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing both brush and his mouth out. “So what’s with the melodrama, hon? Gotta go live up to the shovel talk you gave this guy, ‘cause I think the part about ‘admirable breakups’ is that all shovel talks are kinda nulled.” He called out, rubbing water over his face. Just to remove that lingering daily work stress sweat from it. Scratching the scruff on his jaw, the hair on his chin.

“He’s going to be sulky and bitchy—and then eventually I’m going to have to hear about him having to go and find a guy to have a one-night stand.” Vidal returned to the room, shucking off the sweatpants he’d been wearing (and lazing around in), falling into bed beside him.

“I know a good LGBTQ+ club close by. They’ve got theme nights during the week.” He pulled the man’s arm from his face, holding his hand in both of Vidal’s before cupping it to his face. “Every second Tuesday is Drag Night.”

“Is that so?” Gabriel’s finger twitched against Vidal’s face, bark brown eyes watching him beneath full lashes. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

Vidal shrugged, “Tinker wants me to get info on where they get their wigs. And they _really_ know how to party.”

Gabriel hummed, the corners of his lips curling into an easy smile. “And what would your name be? If you were to ever do Drag. ”

“Ester—don’t fucking laugh, Gabe. Its an inside thing with Tink.” It didn’t stop the chortles. “Then how about Gabriella, huh? Fuck it! Just for that, if I ever do it I’m going by the name Gabriella and you’re just gonna have to _live with it_.”

-

**[VIDAL – 29YRS]**

Vidal spots McCree lingering around the medical wing too often these days—but not due to injury. Instead he’s mooning over a younger man. “Reyes said that once the Doc finishes with running all her tests Genji would be joining Blackwatch,” Vidal crossed his arms over his chest at that. He’s a Shimada; Vidal could certainly see the plus side of him joining them.

But there’s a lot of anger in that man. _A lot_. Vidal has his hands full with Gabriel when he’s raging, and he knows the man. “He’s gonna need a friend,” he eyed McCree—the younger man already looking back. “He’s angry, but he’s still going to need someone to trust—eventually. We’ll all most likely be coworkers to him, but you’re already a familiar face.” McCree licked his lips, turned away to stare down the empty hall. His ears were pink.

Vidal snorted, “I’m not _telling you to seduce him_.” He dug his shoulder into the man’s arm, wrapping himself around the man and plucking that cowboy hat from his head. “Just listen to him bitch and try to work that Southern Charm on him. You’re real slick when you want to be, McCree. And you know what it’s like being angry at the world.”

When he looks up at him like that, with those big bambi brown eyes—he looks young at those moments. “I hate when you’re sweet on me, Vidal.” Vidal could only grin, setting the man’s hat on his own head.

“I’m never sweet McCree, just honest.” He’s halfway down the hall when the man yells after him about his hat—he doesn’t get it back until he goes to bed that night and its sitting on his pillow.

-

**[VIDAL – 30YRS]**

Genji’s frowns have frowns; lurking away from the main group but close enough that he could engage. He _wants_ to join in, but at the same time he’s unsure. Vidal’s already swooped in and stole McCree’s hat, he’s got it in his hands now as he makes for the Shimada. Setting it on his head—the man flinches, whole body clenched as he glares up at him from beneath the hat rim. “Keep this safe for McCree, would you?”

Genji only silently reaches up, righting it on his hair so it sits easier. “Why are we celebrating?” he inquires, not having witnessed what spurred this lively atmosphere on a Wednesday evening.

“Captain Hughes just got a call about his wife being pregnant—he doesn’t need much to get him going.” He was a good man that Hughes; they needed someone... a little less intense to combat all that Reyes is. “He’s always wanted a few kids but with him getting the promotion he can’t leave base as often to see her.”

Fuck, he’s going to retire isn’t he? **Shit**.

“You know a lot about them,” Vidal hums, “ _Blackwatch._ ” The use of them sits heavy in the back of his mind. “McCree says you know everything about everyone.”

That makes him chuckle, “makes me seem like a gossip.” McCree’s over with Reyes, trying to convince the man to drink something—Vidal already muscled him into staying in the room, it’s up to everyone else to ask for more. “I’ve just been here since I was twenty-two.” Eight years now. Vidal’s up there now in age. Older than his parents when they had him.

“Do you like it? Being a part of Blackwatch.”

 _Do I like it?_ The question is loaded, rolling around in his head. Flipping and shifting. Churning in what _Vidal_ thinks of it, and then also what Genji wants from his answer. The man’s smart; he was once so smooth with how he handled socializing, and you can see it return when the anger bleeds away. The Genji that had been before his brother tried to cut it out.

“Most days I do,” he finally said. “I won’t say we’re without those real shit days—or months. This job is _hard_ , and sometimes it looks like shit won’t get better or you’re not _good enough_.” Genji doesn’t want to hear what he tells the rookies when they’re feeling down and homesick. He doesn’t want to hear about doing what needs to be done. “But I’d kill to keep each one of them safe, and they’re all pretty damn decent people—assholes, sure. We’re all fucking assholes. But decent.”

-

**[VIDAL – 30YRS]**

Hughes does, in fact, retire.

“Take the promotion,” he tells Vidal before he even submits the paperwork. “Just… fucking accept the promotion.” The man catches him on his way to Tinker’s workshop (doubled as store), bottle of whiskey dangling openly daring anyone to comment on.

Vidal blinks, gaze sweeping the corridor for anyone else before stepping aside and hiding the booze in the shadow his body cast along the wall as he waved his superior in to continue talking with him. “Is this cause of the pregnancy?”

Hughes rubbed at his temples. “The wife is also moving to L.A to be with her parents—they’re not doing well. Up there in age and all that. I was going to meet her there shortly before her due date.” That’s nearly another seven months away. That’s… there’s _a lot_ of time between now and then.

“Why are you bringing it up now?”

“So you warm up to the idea, Vidal—I’m telling Reyes the same thing when I submit my paperwork tomorrow morning. I just wanted to catch you first.” Its Hudson all over again. But now everyone with eyes in Blackwatch knows—or at least suspects it. “You should have taken the promotion instead of me, Vidal. Everyone knows that.”

Shit.

**Shit.**

“I’ll think about it,” Vidal sighed. Hughes frowned—that disappointed Father look already perfected. “Seriously. I’ll think about it. Really.”

-

**[VIDAL – 30YRS]**

Reyes’ mustache tickled as he rubbed his face over Vidal’s collarbone. “Will you?” the question brought them back to conversation before, hours and days before this very moment tucked into bed.

“Yeah,” he answered, rubbing his hand up over the fine stubbly hair growing in. Tracing up and over Reyes’ skull in mindless circling patterns, Vidal brought his free hand up to rub at his tired eyes. “Hudson was telling me, before Hughes took the promotion, that she and a few others were hoping I stepped up. And you know Hughes talked to me before he came to you with the paperwork.”

The man huffed, pressing a kiss to Vidal’s naked chest. “It surprises me that Tinker didn’t say anything.”

“Ehh,” Vidal broke into a chuckle. “She already knows I get paid with a good dickin’ for all the work I do to keep you sane.” That earns him a snort from Reyes. “And the dicking is _real good_ ,” he purred, rubbing an equally naked thigh up Reyes’ side.  

“Think I should give you a bonus tonight?” Reyes purred, pushing himself up to lean over him. Trailing kisses up Vidal’s throat, nipping at the neatly trimmed hair on his jaw. “You’ve been a dutiful man,” dark eyes shined, burning like flames as Vidal groaned beneath him, obvious in his pleasure.

-

**[VIDAL – 30YRS]**

Genji sits next to him as they settle into the plane seats, a frown so deeply engrained into his face it startles a few teenagers into quickly glancing away. “I don’t understand why you were so insistent in my company for this mission,” he informs him.

Vidal shrugged, “you’re competent. I haven’t had the chance to run many missions with you yet, and I _like_ knowing how we mesh before joining any bigger operation. You needed an excuse to see the sun. Any one of those could work as an answer.”

It’s a two-week undercover mission—staying at a private little resort of all things. The whole stay is the mission, or he’d try to convince Reyes to join him and try to weasel in a few dates. But that wasn’t the case and if he paired with Reyes the temptation would be too much.

“I’m not looking forward to the suit,” Genji states looking overhead to where some of their baggage was stored. He was in dark baggy sweats and an equally as baggy shirt to make up for all the cables. “These were the ones that kept asking about the scar, right?”

“Yeah, these were the ones.”

Genji hummed, rubbing at one of the scars over his own face. The pair was quiet as the seats around them filled and the flight was inching towards take off. “How did you get it?” he finally inquired once they were given permission to move about the cabin.

“What story do you want?”

The corner of Genji’s lip twitched, “your favourite one.”

 _Aaaah_ , which one of them was the favourite? Which one was he _really feeling_ today? “I had this lover,” Vidal started, leaning back in his seat. “It was shortly after my second tour and I was just having this real shit day. So I messaged him looking to hook up—hoping that a quick fuck would help. Well, he invites me over. I’m there an hour later and we waste no time to get to the bedroom. And he asks me if I wanna try some knifeplay and I’m just like ‘fuck sure’. And its fine until he’s fucking me, and this fuck had the knife against my temple and just _whoops_.”

“The main question is **did you finish**?” Genji’s nose scrunches when he smiles—even that tiny little one on his face at this moment.

“ _No_ ,” Vidal hissed, “I punched that fucker out and had to take a cab to the hospital ‘cause nothing I was fucking doing would stop the bleeding.” He leaned in all toothy grins, “two days later I went home with this really beautiful woman and fucked her on the dining room table though. So _eventually_ I did.”

 

Camilla is much the same as he’d last seen her.

“You have a friend with you this time,” she frowned, stopping short.  

Vidal waved the comment off, “the boss thinks he needs to get out more. Socialise—so I’m playing tutor.” Winking, Vidal took the woman’s fingers and guided her hand to his lips. Pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to finally see you again—it looked like they would send someone else if not for your request.”

She blushed, giggling as she brought her hand to her cheek. “Still as flattering as I remembered,” its hard to forget the Newman family. Even more so when their name pops up a few more times around ops that Blackwatch had dug into. “I look forward in seeing you tomorrow Diaz,” she bats her eyelashes at him.

Leaving both Vidal and Genji standing in the resort entrance to check in. “They weren’t kidding about that,” Genji blinked.

“No. No they weren’t.”

 

They’ve both scanned for bugs (once when they checked in and the other when they returned from dinner), found nothing, and settled in for the night. Vidal bunched the pillows behind his head as the data pad chimed, waiting for the call to pick up. “ **Is this business?** ”

“Naah. Pleasure, sweetheart.” Reyes frowned on the other end—his office. “Gabe,” Vidal raised a brow, “you better not plan to sleep on that couch.” The man looked haggard, hat long since discarded. “What’s going on?” Vidal sat up, setting the data pad between his knees and hunching over it, suddenly serious.

“Same as always, Eas. Same as always.” The man sighed, and out of the corner of his eye he Vidal noticed Genji grabbing his own data pad and left for the balcony. The door slid closed with a click, “Jack’s got a fucking stick crammed up his ass. He expects me to run my men to death—we’re already short for Jack’s unreasonable expectations! And he fucking keeps taking the new recruits that he _fucking didn’t want in the first place._ Its only when he starts seeing the results of Blackwatch’s efforts in them that he fucking **wants** them.”

It’s the same thing over and over again— _wonder who Morrison took now_. “There’s something more,” he wouldn’t have lost the hat if it was just Morrison. He’d pull it _down_ further on his head if it was only Morrison.

Reyes’ shoulders slumped, “Mari wants me to come home for Dad’s birthday. It’ll be a big celebration.” He’s not going. Too busy—no way for him to take the time off… so on, so forth. He feels guilty, not being there for his siblings. For being that family member you remember, that you only hear about from others.

Its **Mari** who asks this of him—the sister that doesn’t bother him. The one that’s learned quickly about Reyes’ duty and dedication to his career. He told her he wasn’t coming—Vidal could tell in the twitch of his jaw. How it hangs over him. This could be what made him loose the hat.

“There’s something else.”

The man sighs on the other end. “This one is stupid,” he admits, like pulling teeth. Healthy, sturdy teeth. Vidal on smiles; soft, open. _Try me,_ leaning further over the date pad Vidal wished how they’d be back in bed. He’d lean over him much like this, arms on either side of his head. Shielding him from the world. “I might miss your dumbass—just a little.”

Vidal could feel the blush spread from his cheeks and down his chest. “I love you too, Gabriel.” And simply because he could, Vidal leaned down to the camera. Lips puckered as he kissed the air. “I miss you already.”

 

Camilla’s engaged. The man who’s arm she walks in on eyes Vidal and Genji like they’d slit his throat and steal his woman—Genji rolled his eyes at the staring. “Drama,” he muttered Vidal as he adjusted the tie.

The _Resort_ wasn’t much like they’d expected—yes it was a private island and the Newman family would rent it for the weeks stay they’d conduct their business at. The hotel was long rather than tall; only three floors. With balls at night, and meetings primarily during the day.

With the days busy, Vidal isn’t sure what exactly the woman is hoping for. Some roll about the sheets before her hitching? Vidal wasn’t down.

 

“A hundred bucks and you seduce her fiancé,” Genji whispered over dinner one night. The man had taken the simple alias of Sato on this mission—the Sato to Vidal’s Diaz. The pair sat to the side, away from the main family and their associates, liking to play at taking their meals to discuss the business dealings that happened and planned earlier.

 _Diaz_ was less of a spectacle this time around. A shame really, would pass the time quicker.

“Will have to run it by the _boss_ first,” Vidal purred back, leaning back in his seat. Tilting his head back in that little bro-like nod of acknowledgement. Camilla’s fiancé’s eyes narrowed.

 

Vidal does not seduce the fiancé; doesn’t even mention it to Reyes in his nightly calls. Too busy flirting with his man—teasing about _the kids_. And once, real late at night and with a little too much drink in his system, Vidal had slipped away into the bathroom for a call that lasted _too long_.

Too too long.

-

**[VIDAL – 30YRS]**

Tinker turned, circling lazily in her seat as Vidal stuck his nose in the engine she had somehow got ahold of. It was a lull in business, not much modifications needed to be worked on and she’d fallen into a bit of a rut for some original tinkering ideas.

She always forgot that she wasn’t the only one with mechanical knowledge in their little twosome—he’d been a mechanic for years before joining the military. Tinker’s seen him pull apart a car and get it working again on the field.

“How’d I do?”

Vidal leaned back, plucking a rag from her work table and whipping off, as best he could, the grease on his hands. “It’ll run. Now it’s all about rinse and repeat until that gorgeous brain of yours knows it like that back of your hand.” He winked, blowing the omnic a kiss.

Tinker paused in her circling, setting a foot on top of one of her tables. “Wanna go out to a bar tonight? We haven’t gone in a few months.” She rubbed at the middle of her faceplate with the back of her hand, “I’m missing my wingman.”

A smile, “of course sweetheart. I’m always down for a Friday night out on the town with my Best Gal.” The insistence of those nicknames could make any girl blush, even one who didn’t have any blood. “Give me a few hours to get ready and warn ahead of my drunken return.”

Tinker snickered— _someone’s gonna get lucky tonight._

-

**[VIDAL – 31YRS]**

There's a few months between Hughes’ retirement and when Vidal formally gets the promotion to complete the necessary paperwork—Morrison’s slow to warm up to the idea of Vidal stepping up. They didn’t get along; Vidal wasn’t formal enough when talking to Morrison, and Morrison was a dick (Vidal’s words).

All the stories Reyes would tell about the old Morrison back in SEP and before Overwatch/Blackwatch… that Morrison sounded like a guy Vidal could get along with—there’s times where Vidal gets to see it, can see how even with all the butting of heads Gabe and Morrison are still friends. But those times are rare, and off-putting (just like the times Morrison compliments him on a job well done).

With Hughes everyone kinda got the feeling that he was a chill guy; a real _Dad_ vibe. Played nice with Overwatch, didn’t take to that little rivalry thing.

But Vidal revelled in that. And everyone knew that between Gabriel Reyes and Eas Vidal that was a solid front—a pair of unimpressed faces, mounting sass and a real impressive eyeroll—and **that** was without the knowledge that they were a couple.

It’s in those few months that McCree gets injured.

“Did you hear anything further from the team?” Amari inquired, sitting next to Vidal on the cold floor of the jet bay. Vidal shook his head, negative, and continued scrolling through his datapad. There are so many more emails now.

“We have a support but they can’t do much else now other than keep them in stable condition. Everything else needs to be done here or risk worsening their condition. Owens and McCree are the worst off—Reyes following. Carver, Moira and Tink are fine—cuts and bruises at most. All alive.”

Amari licked her lips, gaze towards the open bay doors. “You’re handling this well—level-headed.”

 _Not really._ He wants to say. His toes have been curled in his boots as soon as he heard that Hudson requested medical to be notified and ready for when they arrive. He’s only keeping it together because he knows they’re all still _alive_. Alive is good—they can work with that. Vidal can’t do anything yet either.

They hear the ship before they see it; pushing off from their seats in a rush as the waiting medical staff gathered the rest of their equipment. “Owens and McCree,” Vidal reminds them, “those are the two in the worse condition.” And in moments they see why.

 

“I need him to ground himself,” Moira frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. Her gaze is critical as she observes Reyes struggle with his emotions and keep himself solid. “He had to move McCree with him and he hasn’t kept a solid state long enough for me to heal his injuries.” She explains before pinching the bridge of her nose, “the tests we were running too were so _promising_. I’d hate to scrap them.” The last bit mostly to herself, but it prickled Vidal’s already tender nerves.

Owens and McCree were quickly wheeled away; they were... Vidal pinched at the bridge of his nose as Amari raised her hands up before her. “Gabriel,” she began, “McCree and Owens will be _fine_. We have state of the art equipment and a professional team seeing to them now.”

Smoke continued to plume, limbs fluctuating in opacity as the man snarled out. “You don’t think I know that?!” Rage building up fear, and fear building up rage. Churning and circling—round and round. One feeding the other even when he knew he couldn’t allow it.

“Gabe,” he could see Amari turn to him, questions on her lips. Vidal approaches him much like how he’d a wounded animal; slowly, avoiding eye contact. His fingers phased through the man’s misty arm when he tried to touch him. It tingled; it wasn’t hot, nor cold. Didn’t feel much like mist or smoke—but not coarse like sand. But there was _weight_ to it.

Vidal never got used to it.

“I can’t _concentrate,_ Eas.” The man hissed, leaning his head in closer. Just them; it’s just them—nothing else matters now. “Jesse’s gonna lose that arm, he shouldn’t have—” he stops himself as more smoke plums from his face, neck, and shoulders.

“We’ll worry about him when we’ve got you handled.” Vidal leans in that four inches of difference between them, his forehead caressed by that not-smoke. “You need to focus on something else—sisters, paperwork, me... choose something and I’ll help, Gabe.”

“You.”

It shouldn’t make him all warm and fuzzy, but it does. “Damn and here I was gonna bitch about the increase in paperwork too,” he chuckled [guiding Reyes’ hands up to his face](http://questionartbox.tumblr.com/post/178011527010/commission-for-shadowsheyla-art-blog). It felt weird to _see_ them, but not feel them cradling his jaw, or his thumbs over his cheeks. “Ah well, at least I’m pretty enough to look at.” Vidal looked at him through lidded eyes, “what colour are my eyes?” A faint pressure of a thumb before it was gone, fading again.

“You just want compliments.” Vidal only grins. “Hazel—your eyes are hazel.”  Reyes’ pinky solidifies under Vidal’s jaw, tilting his head just so. Just enough to have Vidal eyes widen. Allowing Reyes to actually _look_. “Closer to gold most days,” he continues, “its unnatural. I’d say contacts if I hadn’t seen pictures of your two sisters with nearly the same eye colour.”

“I feel that finger under my jaw. Think I need a shave yet?” Said fingers twitch, like Reyes just noticed the texture. “Personally I think I can go for another three days, but you’re all about the trimmed facial hair.”

Reyes huffed, “shave in the morning. Morrison would want this incident to reported on personally so you’ll be with me all day.” That thumb was back, smoothing over the smooth skin of his cheek. “The paperwork for your promotion should be finished by then too,” he continued.

“Not going anywhere,” Vidal answered reaching up to cup the man’s wrists. The skin seemed to reform under his touch, his fingers wrapping around the limb. “Well well, look at that. Finally something I can kiss.” He tucked his face in, turning into the thumb sweeping over his cheek to press a lingering kiss to the digit.

Reyes’ forehead settled against his, eyes closing with a heavy exhale. “If people didn’t know we had something before, they’d know now.” Vidal forgot that they were still in public—Captain Amari off to the right, and if the Doc is there still Vidal couldn’t care. Didn’t like her much anyways. But Amari... now that sends a chill down the spine.

“Could play it off as **Vidal just being Vidal** ,” he tapped his fingers against Reyes’ arms as the smoke seems to piece together. Joining and reforming. “I donno if you remember this, Sir, but I kinda have a huge crush on you. Like hugely massively gay. Pinnacle of gay crushing right there.” The man snorts, pushing him away.

Vidal notes that he’s put back together—no cloud in sight. Just solid Gabriel Reyes.

Captain Amari’s still there.

No one else.

-

**[VIDAL – 31YRS]**

McCree perked up at his arrival, grinning when Vidal waved that cowboy hat at him. “I’ma gonna need to get used to the new title,” he drawled. The painkillers must have just kicked in, normally the Southern Drawl isn’t as heavy as it is now—almost a slurring at the beginning there.

Vidal winked in greeting to Genji who took up residence on the only visitor seat. Bed it is—he planned on visiting for a bit. “Just don’t call me Dad and we’ll be good,” the man blushed, remembering the time in question. McCree had been twenty-two when he called Reyes’ **Dad** —it had just slipped out. Not even in mocking, just all ‘ _hey Dad.’_ McCree was mortified.

“I think he’d more than likely call you _Daddy_ ,” Genji purred, adding with that little twitch of his lips and a twinkle in his eyes. He was doing better lately—opening up more. No less angry, no less angsty. But there were moments like these that helped lessen that frown.

McCree turned, “Genji!” He hissed between clenched teeth, shoulders tensing when Vidal laid out over the end of the bed, squishing his feet as he got comfortable. “Don’t listen to him,” he whirled on Vidal next. Hand outstretched like to pacify him—he really was down half an arm.

Vidal blinked, smile slipping and hardening. “Have you talked to Tinker about your arm yet?” He nodded towards the arm in question—it tanked the fluffy mood in the room just like that. _Damn it_. McCree shook his head, bottom lip pressed between his teeth. “You don’t need to get one—it’s up to you. But we’d cover it. And if you don’t want Tink I’m sure there’s a fair amount of Overwatch personnel that’ll be happy to take care of you.”

“I want one,” McCree starts, “Angela wants me to wait first—more time to heal.”

Vidal raised a hand; good now that the serious shit was taken care of. “It’s up to you, but I’ll give Tinker a heads up to make sure she makes room for _Daddy’s good boy_ ,” Vidal purred, bringing it right back to the earlier topic.

Genji snorted—the laugh catching in his nose as he covered his face with his hands. McCree’s face erupted; the darkest red Vidal’s ever seen his face colour to. “I _hate you_ ,” he hissed, steaming.

-

**[VIDAL – 31YRS]**

Fareeha was twenty when Vidal was finally, properly, introduced to the Amari. Captain Am— **Ana** —insisted and the look kept him from politely turning down the invitation. “This is Gabriel’s second, Vidal,” Ana told her daughter, hand protectively against the young woman’s back. “Vidal, this is my daughter Fareeha.”

They’re off base, for once. It’s only a restaurant close to it, but Reyes is out of uniform and that alone is a feat in of itself. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Fareeha.” She was taller than her mother, Vidal noted—stood straight and proud. “Now I get what Reyes means when he feels old when you visit,” he grinned looking towards the man to wink.

Reyes rolled his eyes.

“Jack will be with us soon,” Ana informs them gesturing for the group to finally sit. McCree shuffles in first, taking the corner of the booth so he can sit next to Fareeha who scurries in to join him. Vidal takes the middle seat between McCree and Reyes, and Ana takes the other side of the table to leave the end for Morrison when he finally joins them.

“Is Reinhart joining us?” Fareeha questions, watching at Vidal plucks the hat from McCree and then Reyes’ head (stuffing the latter into the former) and tucking it in beside him and Reyes in the booth. Eyeing them both when they moved to grab their stolen items of clothing until they settled back and accepted that they’d be hatless for the remainder of dinner.

“He’s in Germany right now,” Ana tells her, “he told me to give you a hug for him but I lack the backbreaking force behind it.” Fareeha smiles at that, tucking her chin against her chest.

 

Reyes’ hand is on Vidal’s thigh, thumb rubbing circles as McCree tells the table (though mostly Fareeha) tales of an Overwatch mission that he had been a part of—and that had wound up on the news. Nothing Blackwatch related. It was mostly running security, and it was shortly when he had his new arm installed—Reyes and Vidal agreed that _maybe_ McCree should warm up and get used to the regular rotation with Overwatch missions, and Ana was happy to pass some off for McCree.

Morrison arrives right at the end of that story—as put together as Vidal remembers. Not a hair misplaced. Though it’s the tanned khakis (and the polo) that makes Vidal flinch—“fucking _khakis_ ,” he whispers in disbelief quickly drowning it with a rum and coke (all Reyes. He’s the one that ordered it, and then something on draft for himself). Reyes’ cheek twitched, catching the comment.

“Drinking already Gabe?” Morrison sat, lip twitching in an awkward grin. Trying too hard to push everything under the rug; and by the way Reyes tensed and relaxed moments later, the man was going to allow it.

“Don’t have much time to lately,” Reyes shrugged, finger tapping against Vidal’s thigh mindlessly. _They were friends_ —Vidal reminds himself— _they’re **still** friends under it all_. “You should grab a drink Jack.”

“Guess I will.”

_This is so awkward._

 

Morrison snorts, beer dripping from his nose. “ _When_ was this?” he coughs, grinning behind his hand as he hands over Vidal’s data pad with the image that made the Strike Commander break and Commander Reyes fluster like a school boy.

“A few years ago,” Vidal answered with a shrug, ignoring the fingers digging into his leg. “This ladies and gentlemen, is an older brother right here.” He placed a hand on Reyes’ shoulder, squeezing. “And it’s still got nothing on what my sisters made me do.”

Reyes in a homemade knitted chicken themed toque with those dangly legs were the best Christmas present that Vidal could’ve gotten—the hat still sits in Reyes’ dresser. He wears it when he’s having a miserable day. It’s a little bit of family, made by Mari when she thought to try some fancier knitting patterns (they come with matching mittens).

 

“Please tell me you hit him,” Vidal hissed leaning over his meal to get a better look at Fareeha from her spot hidden on McCree’s other side.

“Vidal,” Ana warned—typical mother tone. No violence tolerated. An ear still trained towards the younger trio even when Morrison and Reyes had her engaged in some mundane topic. It had started over how Morrison ordered his steak, and then dissolved into grilling and then in something about a trade deal pertaining to lumber (who knew Morrison and Reyes liked to whittle).

The trio waited for Ana’s attention to shift away, back to the men, before Vidal leaned in. As far as Reyes’ hold would allow, to whisper “tell Uncle Vidal all—if you didn’t hit him, _I_ will. And then I’ll teach you how to _really_ hit ‘em hard.”  

 

“I can’t believe you showed him that,” Gabriel sighed, head knocking against the wall of the tub as Vidal settled in the small open space between his legs. The water sloshing with each twitch of movement. “He’s going to hold that against me now.”

“You’re a great brother, and if he tries to shame you for wearing the chicken hat then I’ll break into his office and pour glitter on _everything_ —I mean _khakis and a polo_. Dude needs some style.”  

-

**[VIDAL – 32YRS]**

The day of his thirty-second birthday came like much of his other days; in bed with Gabriel. His head pillowed on the man’s chest with his leg and arm thrown over him. Vidal was a cuddler—if he didn’t get his sleep cuddles in through a good ol’ spooning he’d cling, much like he did that morning (and most mornings before that). Gabriel’s alarm blared at exactly **06:00**.

The man would leave with it, mumbling a groggy “you showering with me or sleeping?”

This morning Vidal followed him out of their warm, comfortable double and stumbled in sleepily into the bathroom behind Gabriel. Leaning heavily against the counter, naked of all but his earrings, Vidal’s head nodded. Jerking up when he felt himself slipping, tasting that sweet sweet embrace of sleep as Gabe tempted the spray. The man held a hand out silently for Vidal to take, both too out of it with sleep to try much words.

The water wasn’t scalding; not like how Gabriel would crank it later. This had a tensed bite of cold to make their eyes _snap_. Jolting the worst of the sleep from their veins as Gabriel bitched, shying away from the spray and nudging Vidal to take the blunt of it. The slightly smaller man using the others height to his advantage, tucking himself into Vidal’s grabby-grabby hands that octopi-ed around him. 

“Its so cold, but you’re so warm~” Vidal cooed, hunching and curling. Tucking his face in against Gabriel’s neck and releasing the full force of the spray to the man’s face. Gabe’s face scrunched, flinching at the sudden pelting. Spray misting up his nostril.

“Fuck,” he hissed, spitting and sputtering, leaning back in Vidal’s grip. Arm reaching round to crank the taps to hot. “ _Warn_ me,” Gabe wrapped his arms back ‘round him. Holding the taller man as they huddled together, waiting for the water to warm. Just enough to separate.

 

He stood, haloed by the rising light through the window behind him. Dark skin shiny, beaded in the water he’d missed while toweling off. Vidal stood comfortable in his nudity as he continued to dry his hair; the tattoo at his hip drew Gabriel’s eye—he still couldn’t believe he got the Blackwatch symbol done.

He sat back, leaving his shirt thrown over his knee. The lower half of himself dressed and ready, but the sight before him too tempting to not admire. “Eas,” Gabriel spoke, settling back further in his chair. The man hummed, pulling the towel away from his face and chucking it back into the bathroom. “Happy birthday.”

The man paused in the middle of making an attempt to cloth himself, rich hazel-gold eyes looking up at him through his lashes. Twinkling, softening. Vidal’s mouth spread wide into a smile. “Thanks Gabe,” he finished pulling up his dark red form fitting boxer briefs. The elastic slapping against his skin. Vidal held out a hand, fingers hooking, bending towards his palm as he tempted him forwards.

Gabriel went without a fuss, tossing his shirt to the end of the bed as he stood. Taking the man’s hand in his and using the other to cup his face. Pressing a firm lingering kiss to his waiting lips. “I’ll give you your presents later,” he purred, another kiss to his aching lips.

Vidal hummed, mouth opening as he kissed the man again and again. Its hard to really keep your mouth _closed_ while kissing. “One of them better be a nice long hard fuck,” he replied, nipping at the man’s lips.

“Only the best for you.”

 

Vidal hears McCree before he sees him; those spurs on his boots that Tinker installed really do provide as his tell. “Hey boss!” Vidal’s body rocks forward as the man slaps a hat on his head. “Got you yer own cowboy hat so you’d stop taking mine. Happy Birthday!”

Vidal chuckled, righting the dark brown hat on his head. “You know this doesn’t mean I won’t keep stealing yours, McCree.” He grabbed him by the neck of uniform (not quite a poncho, not a serape either. Too thin, almost like some weird scarf) and reeled him back in, holding him with an arm around his shoulders. “So tell me, have you put to moves on our resident Shimada?”

McCree’s cheeks darken.

 

Tinker found him at breakfast, nursing his first cup of coffee. “No! Damn it McCree!” her fingers curled before her face, her body sinking down to her knees. Like the weight of the world was on her shoulders. Vidal pushed his chair back, resting a large hand upon her wig.

“Sorry Tink, he caught me on my way here.” She drooped into his lap, swooning like a harlequin maiden. “Awww, Tink~” he cooed, leaning over her. Covering her in his larger upper body. “You got those **_things_** done, right?” Vidal whispered, quiet like a mouse.

Her skinny cool arms wrapped around his knees, holding onto the leg of his pants. “Of course I did—wrapped it in a pretty orange bow and everything. Swing by later for it; thought you wouldn’t want me to bring it with me.” He smiled into the red strands of her hair.

“Thanks Tinker. Love you.”

“I love you too Eas; Happy Birthday you big lug.” They stayed like that for minutes, ignoring any confusion. _Vidal’s birthday_ was getting tossed around, _that’s just them_ was another reasoning. Neither cared.

 

Tinker made him some heavy-duty handcuffs—magnetic in the middle. The plan wasn’t to use them today, but eventually. Yeah, _eventually_. When the occasion called for some fun kinks to be added.

Reyes had broken out of the others they had (standard issue)—It’s nice not having to explain to people why you constantly need to get new cuffs. And with a brilliant mind like Tinker’s, Vidal knew it’ll be _child’s_ _play_ to make something like this. But the gossip and sly metaphorical eyebrow waggles would keep her well entertained.

And as much as Vidal was a man who loved bottoming, there were the days that when he’d top he’d really like to take the power out of Gabriel’s hands. The man needed it sometimes—to be taken care of. To _allow himself_ to be taken care of.

Its just sometimes he had to, and liked to, be restrained while that happened.

 

Ana found him in him on his way to Gabriel’s office. “Meeting with Gabriel?” she inquired, politely. The woman already knew. There was no other reason for Vidal to be down this hallway if he wasn’t—his own office was down the next perpendicular hallway and the direction they were walking? No adjoining hallways.

“Wanted to see if he was free to catch a late lunch,” it’ll be at the cafeteria seeing as it was still within hours of operation. But it wasn’t shit, a little lacking in as much spice as Vidal would prefer, but he was more about the _company_ than the food.

“He should take you out to something off base—its not everyday someone turns thirty-two.” Ah, so this was a birthday thing. “I’ll even _insist_ , if he tries to back out. Consider it on _me_ , to celebrate that promotion of yours.”

“If you can pry him away from that data pad, I’ll gladly take that lunch.” Vidal knew better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. He and Gabriel never actually… stepped out off base for something mundane like a dinner (or lunch in this case). They haven’t gone on dates off base, and the ones on base are impromptu ones that mostly consists of ‘gym dates’ or some weird equivalent of ‘Netflix and chill’ (but no Netflix and mostly legitimately chilling while touching. So cuddles. Those are mostly cuddle dates).

 

Gabriel drove.

Ditching the Blackwatch logo sweater left both men in… well still the Blackwatch crest. But on the tank tops it was slightly less noticeable—lighter grey on dark grey. Both of them looked like they were middle school like… soft goth phase. Jocks playing at goth—joths?

Fuck that was _them_. Right this second, in this little dinner just outside of town (‘cause they didn’t want to go anywhere close that any other Overwatch-Blackwatch operative could pop into. This at least lessened the possibility more).

Vidal set his chin upon his fist, smirking lazily at the man seated across from him. “Already the best lunch date I’ve been on,” he claimed—Gabriel doesn’t need to know this was his _first_ lunch date ever. The man seated opposite rolled his eyes. “I’m serious. Its my birthday. I’m off base for…” he raised his right arm up tilting the watch face towards himself, “at least a good hour. I have _you_ —I can now reach and call this a date without Rosa pulling teeth and trying to say its not.”

Gabriel’s expression sobered; that was the last thing he wanted—none of that. “If we get to go undercover together, again, you can make up for the lack of dates by agreeing our cover is a married couple. I can enjoy hanging off your arm like a good ol’ trophy husband.” That earned him a snort. “ **That** will appease all parties.”

“I’m sure you’ll make a great husband,” Vidal blinks. The tone made him sit up straighter, no longer leaning against his fist. _That sounded_ … Vidal swallowed, heart pounding in his chest. Gabriel cleared his throat, glancing away when their waiter set Gabriel’s refilled beverage on the table—letting them know their orders would be out shortly.

 _Husband_.

The word stayed with him the whole meal; as they talked (pointedly ignoring work topics), as they ate. The word lingered, clinging to him as Gabriel lead the way back to the car. As Vidal reeled the man in for a heated kiss— _later. Later, we’ll finish this later_. It stayed with him as they parted ways to tend to their separate duties on base.

 

He pulled his shirt up and over his head, tossing it blindly to the hamper tucked beside the bathroom door. Stepping further into the room, Vidal reached down, pulling at the laces of his boots and loosening them just enough until he could kick them off.

Stripping his belt from his pants was the next step, leaving the leather tossed over the back of Gabriel’s desk chair, and beelining it to the bathroom. Pants opened and unbuttoned, slowly shimming down his hips with each step.

He knows he already took a shower this morning, but he’d just spent the last two hours in the gym. He’s sweaty and gross, and he really wants Gabe to eat out his ass—so he’d kinda hoping to not smell gross for that (not that said man cares much, but _Vidal_ does). The shower squeals to life as he cranks it right to boiling.

He’d adjust before stepping in.

Vidal stood before the mirror pushing his pants and underwear down, letting it pool around his ankles before stepping out of it and kicking it out the door. It left him naked, bare of all but scars and tatts. They crisscrossed along his dark skin, blemishing it in paler healing skin. Some would disappear in a few more years—some never, some sooner than years.

He rubbed his hand over his face, digging his palm over the scruff along his jaw. Scrubbing at his skin as he waited for the water to heat. Turning away from the mirror, he eyed the spray that escaped between the curtain and wall. Should be warm enough.

He stuck his hand through the curtain, temping the water. _Lube_ , he thought, doubling back to the counter and grabbing one of the smaller tubes the couple had before finally jumping under the spray. He set the lube aside for later, quickly going about getting _clean_ —rinse off, first wash hair, rinse that, then body. With a special focus on his ass.

Vidal raised his leg, toes curling against the lip of the tub as a soap slicked finger nudged against his rim—he could tease himself, its _fine_. Your ass has its only cleaning bacteria and soaping it up could only cause you more problems, so Vidal kept the soap to the outside only (thank you little teenaged Eas just coming into his sexuality and looking up anal sex). He switched to the lube once all the soap washed away, replacing his finger and gently easing it past the rim. Toes curling against the tub, his forehead thumping against the wall.

Its been a few weeks since he’s had anything up there—if Gabriel and he had a moment, a call for some sex, they went more for oral. Quicker, easier, didn’t really need to shed clothing, and if they swallowed clean-up was taken care of. Didn’t have to hunt for lube that way too, and Vidal could very much blow Gabriel in one of their offices.

Vidal groaned, curling his finger inside himself. Pushing, pulling out. Spitting out the water that dripped past his open lips. He eased back in, pushing further for that stretch. Eyes closing as he worked up a pace, slow and deep, building up a stirring low in his gut. He added a second finger with a hiss against his wrist; this was when he really started to feel it.

The shower curtain snapped open, squealing against the rod. “Need a hand?” Reyes drawled, rich brown eyes following the rivets of water down Vidal’s body.

“Could use one that gets a better angle,” Vidal replied, slowly dragging his fingers from himself. He rinsed his lubed fingers under the spray as Gabriel stepped into the shower behind him. Tucking under the spray and rubbing his hands through his short stubbly hair, then quickly down his face. “Lube’s to the left,” Vidal nodded to the little shower nook. The tube sat proud between Vidal’s shampoo and conditioner (he was proud of his hair okay! That means he had to take care of it too).

He hooked his hand up under his thigh, holding his leg up as Gabriel crowded in against him. Pressing wet, warm kisses down the back of his neck and shoulder. “Starting with two,” he warned, fingers circling the rim. He sunk in slowly, teeth dragging over the meat of Vidal’s shoulder as the man sighed. Stretching, preening under his attention. Gabriel worked him slow; rubbing his facial hair over the man’s back, nuzzling and nipping at his flesh. Sighing when he groaned, breath catching as Gabriel curled and spread his fingers.

He could feel him twitching, his legs spasming, clenching as his fingers drove deeper. Body pulled tight as Gabriel slowly pulled back, introducing a third. “Last one,” Gabriel assured. Vidal wanted to _feel_ it—wanted it rough and hard and fast. But both knew better than the skimp it—they won’t be wasting a biotic field for shoddy prep-work (not again—Gabriel doesn’t want to remember it).

Vidal’s forehead slid against the tile, face finding the crook of his elbow and burrowing. Angling his hips back to roll, grind against Gabriel’s fingers as they push and slid. Curled and spread. “Gabe,” he moaned, hissing out the man’s name as he crooked and prodded. Sliding so fan-fucking-tastically delicious inside him. “I’m good—I’m so good. Bed.” He groped behind him, pawing at Gabriel’s thigh and clutching. Blunt nails digging into his flesh.

“Impatient,” the man purred, slowly easing himself out.

“Birthday.”

Gabriel chuckled, “true.” He quickly rinsed off the lube from his hand, holding onto one of Vidal’s arms as he straightened on unsteady feet. His body humming with arousal—damn near vibrating with it.

It made leaving the shower easy; quicker. Flicking the water off with a sharp twist of a wrist. Killing the spray just like that. Both men grabbing the first towels they could—Gabe dried his body, while Vidal prioritized his hair. “C’mon,” the younger hissed, leaning his partner back into the bedroom with a tempting sway of his hips. Water leaving tracks as it fell along his rich brown skin.

He bends at the waist just shy of the bed, pulling the towel from his shoulders and rubbing it quickly over his body. Straightening and tossing it in a ball over Reyes’ shoulder, back into the washroom—he’d chew him out for the mess if Vidal wasn’t looking him _like that_. There’s nothing Gabriel could do under that stare that wasn’t something Vidal wanted.

Gabe nodded, chin jutting out towards the bed. The man complied, crawling forward. Spreading out with all the grace of a feline, ass high in the air. Make that a cat in **_heat_**. Vidal glanced back with a wink—grinning cheekily before shaking his hips. “Tease,” Gabriel hissed, dropping his towel in the hamper _like a responsible_ human before diving into the bed.

His arms wrapping around Vidal, holding him as he collapsed on top. Rubbing his bearded face along the wide expanse of skin. “Hey hey hey! Beard burn on the back there—at least give me some hickeys back there, those are more fun!” Vidal laughed, swatting at Reyes’ hip. Chuckling as Gabriel adjusted his grip, kneeing aside one leg to settle between, he shuffled. Jostling Vidal, no, manhandling him like this took nothing—like he weighed like a pillow.

He nipped, latching on to a spot of skin right between Vidal’s shoulder blades. Sucking and licking, making a mark right _perfect_ along his spine. Cock hung, nestled between Vidal’s cheeks—the moment of playfulness seeping away, clouded again with lust. “Think I’ve got you loose enough that I’d slip right in?” Gabriel purred, grinding down.

“Go ahead,” he hummed, caressing the man’s hip. Meeting his thrusts, angling his hips so the head of his cock caught his rim. Vidal sighed, head falling forward as Gabriel ground—rotating his hips in small circular motions. His lips pressed, sliding against the great wide expanse of Vidal’s back. Pecking, nipping at the skin one final time before pulling back.

Replacing it, a large calloused hand wrapped around the back of Vidal’s neck. Pushing him down flush to the sheets. Taking his cock in hand, Gabriel pressed in—patience thinned. The head of his cock easily slid in, sinking in with one solid _thrust_. “Ughhhhh,” Vidal groaned, fingers curling to claws in the air beside his head. Going from nothing to— _fuck_ — **that**.

That was everything he wanted.

Gabe smacked his palm against the meat of a cheek, pulling back the perky rounded flesh he watched with rapt attention as he slowly pulled out only to thrust back in—with that very same sharpness as the first. “ _Ah,_ ” paired with lewd slaps of flesh as Gabriel fucked him. Metaphorical pedal to the floor—no hesitating. No slowing. Holding him down with a firm hand around the back of his neck as he fucked him hard. Fast.

“Fuck,” Vidal groaned, fingers finding something to grip. The pillows, the sheets. The headboard was the easiest. The sturdiest. His knuckles paled, toes curling. Eyes clenched as he moaned through it all. Fucks and sharp punctuated _ah_ ’s. “Gabe— **Gabriel.** Oh _fuck Gabriel_ ,” he whined, he cried out. Jutting his hips back to meet the brutal pacing.

This was exactly what he wanted—fucked hard and fast.

Just take and take and **take**.

Gabriel’s hand wrapped round, taking Vidal in hand. Thumbing, rubbing at the glands—thumb and finger rounded to focus solely on that. A tease. He was a _fucking tease_. But Vidal would come from it. And it was coming quick. “Gabe,” he warned, pushing back. Gabriel’s own sounds of pleasure carried him closer—his biting whispered groans of _Eas_ , the wordless groans, moans of varying lengths.

It had him tipping over the edge, orgasm crashing into him. Vidal came with a long, low wordless moan—it came from deep within his chest, building up and _up_ even as his whole body stilled. Clenching and curling in on itself. Like it _hurt_.

It hurt so fucking good.

“Fuck Eas,” the man snarled pushing deep. Still as his cock pulsed, spilling his seed. Gabriel did not collapse; his arms shook, yes, but they did not buckle and he did not fall. He sat back, slowly easing himself out of Vidal—attention tunneled. Focused on that slow, easy slide of his cock from the man. Vidal’s hole clenching down on nothing, cum leaking lazily from the rim. _Fuuck._

 

His birthday ended sometime in the middle of round two.

-

**[VIDAL – 32YRS]**

“You ever think about getting married?” Vidal inquired, post-coital bliss making his hands wander. Combing through the dark hairs on Gabriel’s chest, dancing close to that stylized tattoo of his, tracing down the center of his torso until his own leg broke his lazy exploration.

“Yeah,” he replied, toying with the soft prickly stubble of hair on Vidal’s scalp. He’d recently shaved it down again. “Married. A house—a cliché. Picket fence, a yard. Green lawns. Close to my family—maybe Val. It’ll be good to be near my nephew.” His fingers tangled in Vidal’s hair pulling at the soft tips of dark brown. So dark its nearly black. “I wanted to retire at sixty, y’know.”

Vidal hummed, fingers continuing to caress over Gabriel’s chest. He pressed a kiss to the man’s pectoral, letting him continue his musing without interruption. “Can’t think of anyone else to be married to but you,” Gabriel stated, “you’d be forty-three though. Too early for retirement?”

He snorted, “ _romantic_.” Vidal pushed himself up onto an elbow, his hair falling to Gabriel’s forehead as he leaned over him. “You better propose better the next time,” he warned, leaning down to press a kiss to the man’s lips. “I expect a ring,” another kiss “some candles” kiss “and roses.” Another kiss. “A whole bouquet of red roses.”

Thinking back to the only time he’d ever gotten flowers from the man. Those could be a nice theme to go on. Reds and oranges and white—gotta have white at a wedding.  

Gabriel chuckled. “Wasn’t exactly a _yes_.”

“I was gonna propose to **you** if you didn’t do it,” Vidal stated, “I wanted to be married by forty-five. And the name Eas Vidal-Reyes sounds _real_ fucking nice.”

“Not Gabriel Reyes-Vidal?”

Vidal swallowed. Leaning back to take the man in—to fully soak it in. _He… he would take my name._ He felt the corners of his eyes crinkle, grin breaking out—spreading to an unbelievable width. Even as he tried to kiss the man around it. “I’d love that,” Eas whispered, hiding his face. Tucking it away as his eyes prickled with moisture.

Crying would ruin the mood.

-

**[VIDAL – 33YRS]**

It doesn’t take long for the sharks to circle—there’s blood in the water and the primmest of prime cuts  _sitting_ there. News of what happened in Italy was (correction: **is** ) on every television screen on base—all the large monitors playing the same recordings over and over again.

And Vidal sits before one with his head in his hands. Stacks of paperwork, his data pad and coffee cups lay scattered over the table he’s been at for a near twenty-four hours (only breaking for bathroom breaks). He has his own office, has his own couch in there too, but it’s quiet and lonely and... he’d already spent the last three days in there.

Vidal was starting to _hear_ colour.

It was not a nice sound, let’s just leave it at that. Without taking his head from a hand, the man reaches towards one of the many coffee cups littering about on his table. Not that one—there’s nothing in those next two either.

 _Ahhh finally, **caffeine**_.

A hand settles on his wrist and pushes the cup back to the table.

“No offense sir, but I think you’ve had enough.” Carver; Vidal turns, staring up at the man. “You’ve been here since lunch... _yesterday_.” More than twenty-four hours then. Damn, these seats aren’t even comfortable but here he is. “Have you eaten anything? Can I call someone?”

He rubbed a hand over his face—Vidal hasn’t talked to Reyes since he got back from the mission. Was able to hear his version of the events before both had to leave to douse the fire (Vidal had to hear from the others on the team, Reyes reported to Morrison and Ana and then the UN). They haven’t seen each other since.

“Tinker should be in her shop,” Vidal sighed, accepting that this man wasn’t gonna leave him to his work—or Edwards or Jensen or Cheng or Brenan... god damn it there was a group of them. “Fucking hell guys, calm down—I’ll go crash on a couch or something.” He glared at the group, huffing and puffing as they watched him gather his paperwork. “You’re lucky I’m so sweet on you assholes or I’d kick your ass.”

“You can kick it later, sir... when you’re steady on your feet again.” Edwards stated gathering all the empty cups together to speed up the process. “Do we need to walk you to your room?”

Vidal pointed, “that’s pushing it asshole.”  

-

**[VIDAL – 33YRS]**

Gabriel’s miserable, testy—every time Vidal sees him outside of their room the man’s got his hackles raised. Blackwatch is, in all due purpose, **grounded**. Still. You can see how tense everyone is; it’s in their eyes.

Morrison and Amari have a few of them tagging on to Overwatch missions—McCree being one of them. Hudson’s skills as a pilot would be too stupid to turn down so she’s been handed over for the time being. As well as all the current rookies that Vidal had been seeing to—there were only two in this batch, and it was normal by now to have a large portion of them taken into Overwatch (damn it Morrison).

Tinker remained with Blackwatch; completely. Undisturbed. Blackwatch rep.

Genji as well—too angry for Morrison. Genji would do well in Overwatch; he does superb on missions with McCree. But Vidal welcomes the company. From one hundred active Blackwatch agents, forty-two have been taken into Overwatch. _They were useful to them_.

Vidal should really be happier for them—and he is... to an extent. He’s happy they’re fighting the fight that they’ve been here to do, he’s happy that they get to do their job. He’s happier for Hudson though, there’s nothing in him that twist this into anything negative.

But still, a dark part of him thinks _traitor_. It thinks of how easily they flipped on Blackwatch and rolled over—he thinks about it and hates himself for it. And he knows Gabriel thinks and feels the same damn thing.

-

**[VIDAL – 33YRS]**

“I don’t want to fight with you Eas,” Gabriel growled, nails digging into his scalp as he raked them over. Digging deep in frustration. “Not about this—not now. Not when all I hear is bitching from Morrison and McCree.”

Vidal’s shoulders dropped, body tipping back and falling into bed. Jolting it; the headboard following suit by slamming against the wall. “That’s not me fighting with you, sweetheart. We’re both just... _frustrated_.” Feeling helpless.

Things were out of their control now.

-

**[VIDAL – 34YRS]**

“You need off this base,” Ana states, seated opposite of the couple. “Blackwatch is still suspended—nothing will change if you take a month off to visit your family. You have a nephew now, Gabriel. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

Gabriel scowls, rubbing a large hand over his face in thought. “You can meet my sister Lucia too if we go visit Val,” Vidal leaned in, setting an arm on the man’s chair. “I’ve been wanting to meet your family outside of those video calls.” The older man continued to frown.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he sighed. Caving. “I’ll call them—but only two weeks.”

Vidal rolled his eyes; it’s gonna be for more. He glanced at Ana mouthing the very words that he was thinking, _plan for more_.

 

Val holds the gaze much like her brother; bigger than she is. Her hair falls in big curls around her face, eyes the same colour as Gabriel’s. She has freckles along the bridge of her nose—her son David shares this feat. “Pictures don’t do you justice,” she tells him, cupping Vidal’s face as she inspected him. “You don’t look like you’re in your thirties.”

Vidal grinned, “I can show you my ID.” The woman laughs, patting his cheek with soft _smack_ sounds.

“Don’t be cheeky,” she parts from him finally. Finally finished with her inspection of his face and leads him to the living room where Rosa is still pawing at Gabriel, David sits curled in an armchair, looking at these new people with suspicion. “David, honey, did Auntie Rosa let you say hi to Uncle Gabe yet?”

The boy shook his head in the negative.

Gabriel patted at the shorter woman, slapping at her prodding fingers so he could _finally_ introduce himself to his nephew. Kneeling before the couch, Gabriel outstretched a hand. “I’m Gabriel. Your mom’s my older sister.”

“Hi,” the boy mumbled, his tiny brown hand taking Gabriel’s. He was five; a long skinny boy with tightly curled hair on the top of his head, freckles spanning out from his nose and along his cheeks. He had two bright blue Band-Aids wrapped around his fingers. The Batman Band-Aids were only on his knees. Must still be getting used to the growth spurt; makes everyone clumsy.

Vidal sat in the middle seat of one of the couches, arms already along the back of the couch. He didn’t want to crowd; David looked to be a shy kid, and Gabriel was _family_ , the kid had seen pictures of him and heard stories. Vidal was a stranger, more of one than Gabriel. “I wish I had Batman Band-Aids growing up—even now. Wished the Docs back on base had some of those.” David blushed, looking down at his bandaged knees. He’s still holding Gabriel’s hand.

“He _loves_ Batman,” Val sighed, taking a seat on the loveseat. “I was hoping for a Marvel lover, but it’s still firmly Batman. I’m hoping in another few years he’d start changing his tune. Michael’s loving it though,” must be her husband. Gabriel said she got married years ago—before Vidal was even Blackwatch.

 

An hour into the visit, David’s still tucked into the couch. His large brown eyes watching as the sisters try to catch their brother up on their lives. On the drama between Aunts and Uncles—who had children, who got married and/or divorced—on how the jobs were going, how Mom and Dad were.

Another hour passed like that, with Gabriel hardly giving the girls something to work with. Gabriel didn’t have the gossip like they did—all his annoyance stemmed from Morrison, the job, or the UN. “Please tell me he actually does more than just _work_ ,” Rosa turned to Vidal, moving from the loveseat to the three-seater.

“We don’t go off base much, but I try to liven up the routine.” Vidal winked.

Rosa grins, wagging her brows. “Date night?”

“More sit in bed with a glass of whiskey and see where that takes us,” beside him Gabriel coughs.

“Don’t listen to him; Ana’s dedicated in being a constant in my life. Fareeha’s grown up and it doesn’t look like they get along like they used to.” McCree and Gabriel don’t get along like they used to either.

“Well at least we know there’s a woman still meddling in your affairs,” Rose rolled her eyes, winking towards Vidal. “Can’t trust this one to do it for us.” Vidal pressed a hand to his chest and pouted; _such pain_. He slumped against Gabe, sinking until he pillowed his face on the man’s shoulder.

“But if I keep him for _myself_ then I get more cuddles,” he patted those pretty hazel-gold eyes at Rosa, “I mean look at this man. This is a man built for cuddling right here.” Vidal slapped the back of his hand against one of Gabriel’s pectorals.

Val’s smile dipped into devilish, “I’m starting to see who likes to be the little spoon.”

The _word_ had Gabriel’s eyes rolling to the back of his head before even Vidal could shoot up, pointing between to two sisters. “He doesn’t let me!” he was already exclaiming. Vidal was _big_ into the spooning; the man yearned to be the little spoon at every opportunity. It was **_the biggest_** conflict in this relationship of theirs. “It’s always ‘ _I can’t sleep facing that side’_ and he never bothers switching sides of the bed!”

Rose raised a brow, lips pursed as she looked to her brother. “Gabe... _Gabe_ , why don’t you allow him to be the little spoon? Can’t you see he’s desperate?” Vidal turned to him, _Yeah Gabe_ , he had mirrored.

Gabriel groaned, eyes rolling heavenward, “Tonight I will! Okay? You can be the little spoon all damn week too!”

 

Michael, Val’s husband greeted them both with a tired smile but a firm handshake (that turned into a hug for Gabriel). “Let me go take a quick shower and we’ll go out to eat,” the man trailed off in question. A round of approval met the idea. It was then that he crossed through the living room to give both son and wife a kiss. _“Are you happy to see Uncle Gabe?”_ Vidal heard, watching as David nodded shyly against his father’s neck.

 _Cute_ , Vidal thought.

 

They’d barely ordered their drinks before David decided, now that Dad was there, that he was going to be brave. The boy ducked under the table, ignoring both of his parents when they hissed for him to sit back up, only to poke up between Gabriel and Vidal. “Can I sit here?” he questioned timidly.   

Gabriel blinked, “yeah. Of course.” He and Vidal shifted over, leaving him enough room to climb up between them.

Vidal blinked at his new neighbour, smiling when the boy looked up at him. “Need your colouring page?” David nodded, a soft _please_ followed as Val started handing off David’s colouring page and crayons. Classic restaurant accessories. For now the utensils remained where they were. It was only when David thanked him, equally as shyly, that Vidal folded his arms onto the lip of the table and leaned back into the conversation with Rose that they’d been in the middle of.

“Don’t worry Gabe, he doesn’t bite.” Val grinned from the other side of the table, winking at her brother. “He’s a lot like you were at that age,” she adds, grin softening out as she watched Gabriel ease into the booth seat. “So tell Michael about that story when you were ten—you know the one. He doesn’t believe me!”

Gabriel flustered, “why _that_?!” He hissed, “there’s nothing important about that story!”

“It’s embarrassing _for you_ , so yeah it’s kinda a big thing!” Rosa chimed in, breaking away from Vidal and joining the front. He gets it; big brother and old memories. And plus, Vidal and Rosa talk all the time through the video chat. It’s not like they’re missing much.

The waitress returned with their drinks, electing to return again after they looked over the menu a bit more. The argument still well underway as both sisters (and Michael) nettled Gabriel into the story.

“You know what you’re going to have?” Vidal whispered leaning in to talk to David as chaos rained around them. The boy nodded. “What are you having?”

“Mac and cheese,” his big brown bambi eyes glancing up at him before honing back into his colouring. “It’s better than Mom’s.”

Vidal snorted, biting back the worst of the laugh. “Does she make it out of the box?” A nod. “Ahhh that’s why. It’s not _bad_ , just not good.” David nodded enthusiastically in agreement. Like a little bobblehead. The boy paused in his colouring, looking up at Vidal like he was finally _seeing_ him for the first time.

Those large brown bambi eyes wavering, flicking back and forth from left to right. The boy nodded, like he was pleased with whatever deduction he’d reached, holding out the green crayon out for Vidal. “Here you go,” and Vidal took it, thanking him as he tucked himself in closer to the boy. “Green here please,” he’d point to the part of the picture he’d wish to be green. And Vidal would comply with those large brown eyes ever watchful.

“You’re pretty good with kids,” the comment pulled Vidal’s attention away from David and their collaboration of a colouring and towards Michael who’d broken away from the sibling’s demanding inquiry into Gabriel’s down time.

Vidal shrugged, handing the green off to David and accepting the yellow it was replaced with. “My sisters are all younger than me and they all kinda act like little kids in a way—so I guess I’m used to it?” He shrugged again, pursing his lips. Vidal didn’t know what to say. Thanks? Did he say thanks to something like that?

Kids are just little humans, and they’re typically easier to understand than adults. Needs more basic, interests easier to understand—as long as Vidal kept up to date with popular culture—you just need to know the cues. And Vidal had a career based around being able to read people (and cause harm to people if need be, but he’d rather push that part aside. No harming children. Vidal’s not a monster).

“Oh? You have sisters too?” Val’s dark eyes honed in on him. Suddenly losing interest in her brother. “You close to them?” Gabriel leaned back in his seat, crossing his arm over his wide chest. He shoulder’s dropped, at ease now that he was out of the spotlight.

“Not as close as I was growing up, but yeah—for the most part.”

Rosa paused, mouth poised for a question when the waitress returned with their beverages. “I’m sorry about the wait; they were changing the lines in the back,” she started handing out the beverages. Pausing before placing David’s, “you changed seats!” She smiled when the boy nodded, looking to Gabriel beside him.

Rosa grinned, “He wanted to sit between his Uncles.” Those eyes were familiar; that twinkle in them. _That_ was a look of a little sibling. _That_ was a look Vidal was familiar with. And yet the comment, the ease in which she readily said it (Vidal’s an _Uncle_ to David) made him colour. Made his body heat and flush; the man ducked his head, biting back that face splitting grin fighting to break out.

“Do we know what we’re having?”

 

 

David had finished his colouring with Vidal’s added assistance, now left to slouch back in the booth gaze shifting between Gabriel and Vidal. There was a lull in conversation leaving Rosa to check her phone, and Gabriel to inquire just what Michael did for a living (whatever it was it had slipped his memory).

Vidal slouched alongside David, his taller body crammed in the tight space—but it made the boy smile. Vidal crossed his arms over his chest, just like how David had his, sighing heavily. “Boys, sit up.” Val scolded lightly, more habitual than _bothered_.

Vidal groaned, winking towards David as he rose like Dracula from his coffin. The boy giggled, straightening as well so he could lean in against Vidal’s side. “You think your Mum’s mad?” he ‘whispered’. The art of stage acting—he never took theatre, but being around Gabe long enough has lead him to picking things up.

David shook his head, wrapping his arms around one of Vidal’s. _Cuddly kid_ , he thought flexing his arm to curl him in closer. Reminded him a bit of Mia growing up—he missed those times.

“You’ll tell me though if she was _really_ mad... right?” Vidal ‘whispered’ again.

David nodded. So Vidal outstretched the pinky on his opposing hand for the sworn, unbreakable, pinky promise. It was like a blood bond for children—like selling your soul to the devil... but as a child. David took it, his tiny pinky wrapping around his and they shook. Sealing the deal, the promise—completing the childhood blood bond ritual.

 “You’re _so weird_ ,” Rosa giggled, watching the whole scene play out like it was a train wreck. “ _No wonder_ you’ve been with my brother for so long—you’re both weird and nerdy together.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, “neither of us are _weird_.”

“Not so nerdy either,” Vidal added, pointing at her. “The nerdiest we get is talking bands and horror—from those horrible indie flicks to books.” Total Joths those two. What these other Reyes didn’t need to know was how they also would watch musicals (and Disney) and the latest Marvel movies (Vidal really _really_ loved The Falcon/Sam Wilson. Like... _grr_ ).

 

Gabriel had shared bits and bites of his food with David when the boy would casually ask what it tasted like. And every time Vidal would have the set his elbow on the table and just… take a moment to swallow the cuteness.

 

Their hotel room was nice. The room overlooked the city; the lights a dancing collection in a variety of colours. The room itself was warm; shades of browns and crème. The bed larger than Vidal had been thinking— _a king? Really?_ (Gabriel has shrugged and flopped back into it with a heavy sigh.)

“So I messaged Lucia,” he turned away from the sight. Back to the man still spread out atop of the covers; half asleep and loose limbed. _Cute_ , Vidal thought sitting by the man’s hip. “We’ll meet her at her apartment at approximately 1900 hours. She should be home from work then, and we’ll eat dinner with her and her partner.” Gabriel hummed, curling towards him and wrapping his arms around his waist.

 

Lucia had gone into politics, that much Vidal knew and shared with Gabriel on their way over that evening. Three years younger than Vidal was, and had a partner who lived with her (supposedly Vidal had met them, but he doesn’t really remember and Mia never really talked about who their sisters dated).

“Kids?” Vidal shook his head in the negative. Lucia had always been the one on the fence about having lils—and mostly leaning towards the firm nope (Eas had wanted kids, but then the idea got buried under work). “Sounds easy enough.” They were quiet for the rest of the drive.

Gabriel took his hand on the elevator ride up, tugging him in and wrapping an arm around Vidal’s waist. Kissing his shoulder. Mia had never really talked to him before so this would be the first Vidal sibling he’d actually ever get to talk to (that wasn’t some lame “hi” or “bye” in the background). But those stories up was enough time to firm his already harden resolve, ready himself, and allow Vidal to lead them to the door marked **1008**.

He knocked and together they waited. Gabriel’s hand entangled with Vidal’s, the taller man caressing over his skin with his thumb. They heard the slide of the peephole open; the occupants checking on them before the slide of it being returned and the deadbolt sliding open. The second lock turning, opening. The door swinging open.

“Eas!” Lucia was all smiles. Her teeth perfect and white. Shining. A politician smile—just that smile alone gave away what she went on to do after school.

The woman looked strikingly like Eas; the same golden-hazel eyes. The same dark brown-nearly black hair, with enough curl in it that it held volume and a personality of its own. That same copper-brown rich skin; full lips and a dimpled grin.

“Lucia,” Vidal answered, easy smile spreading out along his lips. The man stepping forward to embrace his little sister. Wrapping her tight; lifting. Until her long legs were left dangling, toes shy of the floor as she clung to him. “When you tell me I know who your partner is, you’re supposed to _remind me_ —with a name,” he hissed, setting her down.

“Well _you_ didn’t tell me you were dating your CO until a few days ago—so _payback’s a bitch_.” Lucia hissed back, sticking her tongue out at him before sobering. Nudging her brother out of the way, Lucia held her hand out towards Gabriel. “I don’t know if I should wish you luck and a little bit of praise for putting up with him for all these years or threaten you in sibling solidarity. But until I’ve decided… I’m Lucia Vidal. It’s a pleasure to welcome you.”

She had a firm grip; Gabriel noted as he took her hand. Shaking it just the twice. One two—rhythm. No more than the two. One shake was for quick introductions, quickly passing from one to the other. Two worked better for these types of settings. Private, personal. Anything more than two was awkward.

“Gabriel Reyes—call me Gabe if you’d like.”

She lead them in and the couple quickly took off their shoes, setting them aside and following her in further. “Is that Eas?” the man pushed himself off the couch, pulling his long dirty blond hair into an easy bun.

“Nooo _ooo_ ,” Vidal whispered, lips breaking out to a face splitting grin. “Look at you! Look at that **beard**!” He exclaimed, laughing as he rounded Lucia and cupped the man’s face in his large dark hands. “You could only grow in patches the last time I saw you! _Holy shit_!”

The man laughed, bright robin egg blue eyes closing as he allowed Vidal to move his head this way and that—taking in all of the trimmed beard on his face. “It took awhile, but I’m happy with it.” His sun kissed hand covering Vidal’s, patting it. “Not as long as legally changing my name and paperwork, but that’s been sorted out too.”

If anything it made Vidal brighten further—like the sun on a hot summer’s day. He turned to throw Gabriel that megawatt grin, turning back to Lucia’s partner. “Now I gotta hear it!” He stepped back, back to Gabriel’s side. Wrapping his arm around the man’s waist, his whole body hummed with glee.

The man cleared his throat, blue eyes darting towards Lucia who nodded— _go on_. “The name’s Jay,” he started, reaching out for a handshake. “Its nice meeting you.” He took Vidal’s hand first, then Gabriel’s. A firm grip, sweaty. But not bad.

“Gabe,” Gabriel replied.

Lucia huffed, waving them back towards the couches in a shooing motion—clearly a woman used to getting her way one way or the other. “So I got home late, and Jay still burns spaghetti sauce—”

“The call out. _Harsh_ , Luci.”

“—so I just ordered Chinese cause I’m _lazy_. Don’t say anything Eas.” The man in question raised his hands high above his head, falling into one of the plush couches beside Gabriel. “Hope you don’t mind,” its… _unnerving_ to have someone with those eyes belonging to anyone but Eas.

“Its fine,” Gabriel replies for them both, watching as Vidal settles, arms thrown over the back of the couch. So easily relaxed.

 

“Jay and Lucia were high school sweethearts,” Eas stated on the elevator ride back down. This Gabe had gathered. “Lucia figured out she liked more than just one gender back when she was still in middle school. She used to ask me about it; what its like liking girls, boys, _people_ —dating. She was worried about Mom and Dad and what they’d think when they found out she’d kissed her best friend and liked it.”

Gabriel glanced away from the display, humming when the man paused for too long.

“Jay’s parents weren’t happy about the _liking girls_ part, and even less so when he’d later tell Luci and I that he was a boy.” It clicked right there. “I had already joined the army and served when I learned that my family took him in—which. _Fucking right they did_. Mom and Dad love him.” Eas rubbed his hand over his lips, “Emma and I always said Mom would cry if those two ever broke up—that Jay would be a part of the family no matter what.”

Gabe’s hand wrapped around his wrist, tugging him in to tuck against his side. “Jay and Lucia are great,” he told him. Pressing a kiss to the swell of Eas’ cheek. “I’m glad to get to know them better.”

Eas grinned, arm wrapping around the man’s waist as the elevator doors slid open. “Good ‘cause Lucia’s gonna start hounding for the classified info and I’m gonna need someone else who can say no to her.”

Gabe snorted, “ _Politicians._ ”

 

_“Message me tomorrow and we’ll get a group together.”_

Gabriel wasn’t expecting to get to experience a gay bar outta visiting Vidal’s sibling. But Jay was familiar with the scene and Lucia still couldn’t believe her brother hasn’t been to one (cause it seemed like the others he’s been to didn’t count)— _Really Eas? **You?!**_ That and it was tied up with a neat little bow in the form of Vidal saying he’s always wanted to dance with him.

This whole _vacation_ has been one big spoil Vidal excursion and… _fuck_. It felt nice.

Holding hands, kissing in public—they went out for breakfast this morning and they sat on the same side of the booth. No reason other than wanting to nestle together like a pair of damn lovebirds. And then they went back to the hotel and just _laid there_. No sex, just more uninterrupted clinging.

“The first thing I’m doing after throwing my damn retirement papers on Jack’s desk is proposing to your dumb ass.” He’s been watching the man get ready for the last half hour; primping and priming in the mirror. Shirt present, but pants still missing.

Vidal blew at that one stubborn hair that wouldn’t cease its flopping into his face. “Right in the middle of the base?” he was smiling as he turned to him, hip pressed to the bathroom counter.

“It’d _marry_ you at the base if you wanted.” Vidal smiled, reaching out and reeling him in to wrap him into an embrace. He smelt good. A new cologne—Gabe hadn’t smelt it before. He inhaled heavily, eyes falling closed as he wrapped himself around the man. “Is this the cologne Lucia gave you?” The man hummed, trailing fingers over the stubble Gabriel’s head. “Smells nice.”

He ducked his head, kissing Gabe’s ear. “Thanks for agreeing to this, love.”

Gabriel’s danced on missions before—for the cover. Most of the things he’s done these years have been because of a mission. Gabe used to dance, used to _love_ dancing, but only now finds himself occasionally doing it when he decides to listen to music to fill that aching silence at work. Has Eas even seen him dance before? Something _not_ in a mission?

“Anything for you.”

And he means it.

 

“When I said I wanted a male version of you I meant I want one that’s **_single_**.” Vidal laughed at the outcry, leaning in against Gabriel’s side. The friends that Lucia and Jay brought were lively—two men and a woman. Vidal was really digging her [rainbow coloured hair](https://hairstylehub.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/05/luxury-rainbow-ombre.jpg).

Gabriel’s hand slipped down into the back pocket of Vidal’s skinny legged jeans (were they actual skinny jeans or were his legs just that _thick_?), tongue pressing against the back of his teeth when he was reminded that Vidal forewent underwear. ‘ _Let’s have a quickie in the bathroom—we’ll be a cliché_.’

This man was going to be the death of him.

The first thing the couple did when they got in was beelining to the bar to order—three shots of tequila (two of which Gabriel downed right then, the other was for Vidal) then a rum & coke for Vidal and a Bud for Gabriel (Vidal pulled a face at that). And only when they got their drinks did they find Lucia and her group.

“So this must be the Big Brother we hear about,” the woman says (closer to yelling with the music). “I’m Violet,” she’s pointing to one of the men next (a light brown skinned man, naturally dark brown curly hair with dark mocha eyes. He wore striking lime green eyeshadow), “that’s Em. And that’s Jace.” Jace was the bemoaning about Vidal’s relationship status (white man, dyed orange hair, green eyes).

Vidal pointed to Gabriel first before himself, “Gabe. Eas—now what has my sister been saying?”

“Just that you never answer calls and haven’t been home in a few years.” Lucia pointed her finger at him from across the small bar table. She had taken up residence on the only stool, the others must have been taken by others. “You always get back to Mia and Emma but why never _me_ , huh?”

Vidal snorted, rolling his eyes up. “You’re always trying to dig into shit, Luci. I’m not giving you political dirt just to use it to your own career gain.” She pulled a face, sticking her tongue out at him. “Yeah _that’s_ why. You lil’ shit. Just cause Dad spoiled you rotten doesn’t mean this Vidal will too—you can call and ask how your brother’s doing like a proper sibling, and **then** I’d start thinking about callin’ you back.”

“Ugh,” Lucia groaned draping herself over Jay. “See how horrible he is?

 

They rocked—ass to crotch—in the middle of pulsing bodies and strobing lights. Gabriel’s hands hot and heavy on his thighs, on his hips. Keeping him close, closer. Vidal’s head tilted back, his hands reaching. Grabbing. Holding onto Gabe in whatever ways he could. They weren’t so much _dancing_ —closer to fucking. Moving with a beat but with all that familiarity of a well thorough fuck.

His lips parted, finding a sliver of skin on Vidal’s back where his shirt fell away. Nipping playfully. Fingers dug in against the back of his neck, falling away to the hand he had on his thigh. Fingers weaving, clinging.

-

**[VIDAL – 35YRS]**

He’d been running himself into the ground; McCree could see it. See it in the both of them. As soon as probation was off, Morrison had Blackwatch running ragged. Missions that hadn’t been leaked to the public and that were still active needed to seen to, caught up on. McCree had been busy with the omnic uprising and running the odd Overwatch mission—whichever ones that needed an extra gun to flash (mostly just posturing than firing).

But the worst part of it all was the shortness in Agents. A few had retired when shit hit the fan, more were taken in under Overwatch—officially. No longer Blackwatch (none of the clearance, none of the missions). Their funding drastically cut so no new Agents _were_ to be added. Not unless they started seeing a very large death toll.

And McCree wasn’t hoping for that.

But you could see it in them—Reyes and Vidal. Their heads together in the Mess Hall, hunched over data pads and papers, meals forgotten (cold, uneaten). You could hear it in how Reyes _barked_ his orders, sounding more like Morrison each day as tension pulled tight like a noose around his throat. Vidal didn’t have time to sit around with the Agents like he used to; talking to them, getting to know them—he still did it, yes. But McCree could see how exhausted he was. It wasn’t like before.

“They’re going to burn themselves out,” he stated, slurping loudly at his tomato soup (it was a soup day alright. He liked his soup). Genji plucked one of McCree’s crackers from the plate, dipping it into the soup before stuffing the thing straight into his mouth.

“Hm.”

“Reyes and Vidal,” he answered, figuring Genji had been asking _who_. He didn’t mind if Genji picked at McCree’s food; the man didn’t have much of an appetite but still needed to _eat_. His brain needed it, what natural organs he still had needed it—and what didn’t was able to burn and convert it into some energy.

“It will even out soon enough.” Genji licked at his thumb, like it was just another day. Like it didn’t bother him seeing those two working themselves to a grave. “We’re backlogged.”

_Still. How long till then?_

-

**[VIDAL – 35YRS]**

Tinker found him in his office, luckily away from his desk—but still _working_. Spread out along the couch with Commander Reyes present. Their conversation pausing as the door _whooshed_ open. He’d given her the code to let herself in if (and/or when) she needed it. “Tink,” he called out, smile tired as he handed back the papers to Reyes.

“I didn’t see if you ate lunch,” she spoke, looking between the two men. Those two had a lot of muscle they needed to keep in working order. Couldn’t lose that because they decide to forgo too many meals in order to shovel the shit of paperwork that was still backlogged.  

The man glanced to Reyes who stared blankly back before checking the time. He shook his head and Vidal sucked in a breath—that was her answer then. “Commander?” Who knows when _he_ last ate. At least Tinker knows Vidal’s caffeine addiction makes him leave to get more (he refuses to keep a coffee maker in his office for that very reason and whenever someone gifted him one he’d add it to some new corner in the building. Lately it was the medical wing).

Both men pack up, putting papers away and tucking their data pads back into place. They leave without any physical folders and Tinker considers it a win.

-

**[VIDAL – 35YRS]**

Get McCree out of the cowboy ware and he’s like a new man. “You gotta be jokin’,” he drawled, staring at the single bed in their room. It was a nice big, comfortable looking thing. And Vidal chuckled, winking at him as he passed. Starting to sweep the room for bugs. McCree following shortly after—they’d talk after they gauge if they’re being listened in on or not.

They were clean.

“Gotta keep up with appearances— _husband_.” Vidal all but cooed, leaning back against the pillows to inspect the golden band around his finger. “Can’t expect newlyweds to already be sleeping in separate beds—you kinda _assume_ the sleeplessness is cause we’re too busy fucking.” The beat red blush on McCree’s cheeks was _delicious_.

Its been ten years (or so?) since that night; McCree’s 21st birthday drinking and sex adventure. They haven’t had to share a bed in all that time; never had to run an op like this with McCree before. Sleeping on missions with McCree were a spur of the moment plans, catch a few in a car or when you’d trade off their watches.

“You’re handling _jefe_ if he gets all prissy with me—I’m not being held accountable for this here situation.” Vidal raised his heads up beside his head, waggling with fingers and brows. “I _know_ that look Vidal—”

“You know nothing Jesse McCree,” the man purred, grin spreading. Holding—breaking into a cackle of laughter. “Reyes knows I’m a snuggler. You won’t get in trouble if you wake up tangled in me.” It just makes the younger man blush. “I’m sure Shimada won’t hold it against you either.”

“ _I don’t know what yer talkin’ about_ ,” McCree hissed, whirling to face a different way. Avoid further teasing—if possible. He caught that cat ‘n the canary look in the mirror. The _fuck_.

-

**[VIDAL – 35YRS]**

Its in June when McCree corners him in his office. “Convince him to leave,” the man says. No hesitation. No pleasantries. He had walked in and left it at his feet. “Blackwatch— _Overwatch_ —is sinking. You **know** this. This isn’t the Blackwatch Reyes wanted—this isn’t what _we_ fought so hard for.”

Vidal sighs, leaning back against the edge of his desk. Crossing his arms over his chest. That’s a loaded statement; watching the seams start to split open. Morrison vs. Reyes—the tension and animosity slowly building (whatever annoyance and disagreements they had before, it was nothing like now). The rift between Reyes and McCree slowly growing since Italy.

“Morrison doesn’t even know how to handle this shit anymore, V! And that’s _Overwatch_.”

McCree (and the public) doesn’t know about the… _questionable_ assassinations (the three Reyes had conducted, and the thirteen Vidal had). This wasn’t the Overwatch Vidal thought it was—its not like it once was. But Reyes didn’t know what else to damn well do when Morrison was signing off on the work, pushing them to get it done. And Vidal was more lost than him.

Everything felt **_off_**.

“You won’t leave without him, and I can’t watch it any longer. He _doesn’t listen_ to me.” He removed his hat, combing a hand through his hair. Pushing it back from the sides of his face. “This isn’t what Reyes wants and you _know that_.”

Vidal’s blunt nails dug into his palms, “a few more years.” Gabe’s going to retire at sixty—they’ll both retire. Move back to the States, maybe someplace in LA… or further. Maybe they’d go to some quiet little boring town and just _enjoy the quiet_. They’d get married. “A few more years and Gabe’s gonna retire.”

McCree shakes his head, lips drawn tight. “And in those years what kind of missions are you going to have to run? How many more times are you going to have to push away your own moral compass ‘cause we’re told it’s the _right thing to do_ or _that its needed_? I’m not the only one who’s frustrated—we can all damn well see both of you are. But I can’t—!”

Vidal looked up at him through his lashes, watching as he paced—spurs clicking, boots clunking as he walked in a tight two step-turn-two step rotation. Stopped again just as quickly as he started—his brain finally catching up with where his mouth had left him. Shoulders dropping; _drooping_. “I can’t watch you two kill yourselves for this. I just _can’t_.”

Vidal can’t promise him anything. No matter how much he wishes he could.

-

**[VIDAL – 35YRS]**

The day that Captain Ana Amari died destroyed them.

The news of it preceded the team’s arrival back to base, the fact that Strike Commander Morrison was unable to retrieve her body left Reyes fuming. Literally—smoke pluming from his uniform as he shouted back at the man through the COMS. Even with Vidal’s mundane hearing, the man could hear the other’s retort clear as day.

 _They couldn’t_.

The answer had Reyes pulling the COM from his ear, whipping it to the closest surface. Shattering the device in a rain of pieces. “FUCK!!” His fingers curled, body bending as he sunk. Falling to his knees.

They were no strangers in losing people—in losing friends. And each one never made it any easier. A part of yourself always felt… missing… afterwards.

Vidal’s feet carried him forward, sitting beside the form of the man. Hand pressing against Reyes’ back as his own face pressed to his shoulder. Eyes clenched shut as his brain sorted through it; through the shock, the long drawn out nothing. That gut-wrenching thought of _no—that’s not true_. That this was all just some sick joke. A nightmare. Certainly one of those.

Anything but reality.

Reyes’ body trembling, clouds of black smoke slipping from his neck. The man holding himself back, too stubborn to cry—crying would make it final. Would be acceptance. And Reyes just wasn’t the type to lay down and accept that.

 

(Seeing Reinhart cry that day broke them—Gabe and Morrison. The three standing there with tears streaming down their faces. That moment solidified a lot of things… and if you could listen closely. That sound? That was the growing rift between Morrison and Reyes growing wider and wider.

…And McCree couldn’t look any one of them in the eyes.)

-

**[VIDAL – 36YRS]**

Genji left…

-

**[VIDAL – 36YRS]**

…McCree left.

-

**[VIDAL – 37YRS]**

There’s a moment in their weekly spar that Vidal slips up; throwing his arms up too late to block a right hook. Reyes is running on fumes—too stubborn, too angry, too damn tired. Gabriel had called for their weekly sparring to be bumped up from Friday to the Tuesday citing he needed to blow off steam and Morrison’s ass wasn’t available to kick.

Vidal’s had years to get used to that superhuman edge; it still packs its bite but the years had made him more capable to handle it.

But the **look** was what threw him off; Vidal was no stranger to the dissociations. Putting someone else’s face where theirs were and using them to burn off your own frustrations. He knew Gabriel was neck deep in that when Vidal landed a roundhouse to his damn head—it’s a big build up of a move and no matter how fast you are it leaves you open.

He should’ve called it then.

Should’ve, could’ve. Didn’t.

The anger—the _hate_. That was new. _That_ was unnerving. To see it directed at him. Made that block slow, easy to break. He _felt_ the punch rather than saw it coming. Like as soon as he touched him, Vidal blacked out.

Done.

KO’d.

Teeth sinking easily—like butter—through his cheek. Teeth just missing his tongue. Head **slamming** against the mat. Vidal felt the world swimming around him, blinking the sight back in his eyes. Chasing away the darkness till all he was left with was the great wide expanse of training mats and blood. _The fuck am I on the floor for?_ He thought sluggishly. Blinking. Blood dripping in a steady fall from his lips.

“Jesus fucking Christ Eas,” Gabe hissed, pawing at him. Taking his face in his hands. “Look at me. Look at me _mi alma_ ,” everything’s swimming, but at least he’s lost that horrible look in his eyes.

“You mad at me?” Vidal slurred, eyes narrowed as he tried to focus. Frowning when the man just wouldn’t _focus_. The blood dripping like drool—fucking attractive, right?

“Course not,” Gabe replied, sighing. Head hanging. Sighing again—so many damn sighs. The world spun, heaving horribly as Gabriel released his face and instead gripped him under his legs and back. Lifting the man like nothing. “If you’re gonna puke, puke now sweetheart.”

Vidal did not puke—he came close.

-

**[VIDAL – 37YRS]**

His toes skimmed the ground as he leaned back in Reyes’ lap, elbows digging into the desk as he continued to block the man from his work. Their paperwork for the month, finally, taken care of. Really there was no reason for Gabriel to still be hunched over his work other than the man was a workaholic and needed an intervention.

Really, Vidal was exposing his knowledge on how to bypass the system and lock someone out just to _sit in this man’s lap_. He should really do something a little more risqué with it. Like _fuck him on his desk_ —but this is fine. This is just fine.

Gabriel’s hands settle on his thighs, “you’re like a cat _mi alma_.” It’s a new development—that nickname. Shortly around his birthday it came into rotation— ** _my soul_**. Vidal thanks the years he decided to spend honing his Spanish (McCree and Gabriel had made excellent conversing partners even if they’d laugh at his pronunciation). It had always sat wrong with him growing up that he couldn’t speak his father’s language with the ease and grace of his cousins.

“I’ll show you _cat_ ,” Vidal pushed himself forward, setting his forearms on either shoulder. He pressed a kiss to the tip of Gabe’s nose before giving it a nip, poking the tip of his tongue out between his teeth as the man jerked back. “That’s what cats do, no? Give you love before a good ol’ nip?”

“What kind of cats have you been meeting, _mi alma?_ ” the man frowned, looking so concerned that Vidal couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled. Built up from low in his stomach. Gabriel’s hands cupped either side of Vidal’s face. Squishing his cheeks in. Shushing him—attempting to. (It did not work)

-

**[VIDAL – 38YRS]**

A knock brought both their attention from the data pad, from the last-minute information they were combing through for that UN meeting at their Swiss headquarters scheduled for a few weeks from today. “Come in,” Reyes called, allowing the door to slide open.

“Tink?” Vidal questioned, setting the data pad down as the omnic woman stepped in. She rubbed at her upper arm nervously.

The woman head tilted, looking up beneath her bright red bangs. “I’m submitting my letter of resignation.” Like peeling off a band-aid. Fast and sudden. Deal with the pain after, now that it’s done.

Vidal gaped, blinking. Mouth moving around unspoken words, words that just wouldn’t stick. Wouldn’t form. “Can I ask why?” Reyes inquired, large hand settling on the small of Vidal’s waist as he passed. “I’m not…” he trailed off, pinching at the bridge of his noise. Upset, disappointed—angry. Those words just didn’t feel right.

“I can’t watch Eas—and you as well Commander—work yourselves to death. Overwatch… Blackwatch… they aren’t the organization I put my life in for all these years. They aren’t _the same_. And I stayed this long ‘cause I trust you, Commander Reyes, I do. But I’m… _scared_.” Her fingers curled in the area in front of her chest.

Vidal shushed her, wrapping his arms around her small frame. “Do what’s right for _you_ Tink,” he tightened his grip, “I won’t ever fault you for putting yourself first. You deserve to look after yourself.”

Her fingers curled against the back of the tact suit, “I’m going to Numbani.”

“I’ll find you there,” Vidal promised. “Whenever this shit is over with, I’ll even bring you a housewarming gift.”

-

**[VIDAL – 38YRS]**

Mia was getting married to a man Vidal had never met. He’d wanted nothing more than to go and visit, meet this man properly. _Brian_ ; the guy’s name was Brian. Vidal knew next to nothing about him—Mia just never seemed to talk to him about the man. All he knew was she was going to try going on a date with this man, months later she told him she was in a relationship with him.

And then the next he knew: _marriage_.

“We’ll be there, Emma. Don’t worry. The summit will finish, we’ll get on a plane, and then the day after we land Mia’ll be getting married. I’ll have the see about threatening this fiancé before he put the ring on.”

 _“Please don’t—she loves him. And we all already approved, not like that really matters, but don’t go all Alpha Male and get into a pissing contest with him. Just go find her at the venue and say she looks beautiful. We’ll all forgive you for never visiting anymore then.”_ His littlest sister stated from the other end of the call, her expression dull. Tired, bored. Half watching as Vidal clutched at his chest and gaped.

That one kinda stung—though she didn’t need to know that.

“Wedding planning not so easy as you thought?” Stress. Emma had never been one to look good under stress. Lucia told him horror stories of how Emma acting when he was doing his tour(s).

Emma turned, sticking her tongue out at the screen. _“I’m a **fantastic** wedding planner thanks—Mia would be **lost** without me, and Mom would have convinced her to go pink. You know Mia likes yellow and blue.”_ She glanced back towards the light, TV or computer, _“it’s a blessing that Brian likes blue too.”_

Vidal _hated_ blues—orange was the way to go. Red and orange. “Ugh. Don’t like him already—who’s favourite colour is **blue**?”

 _“I don’t want to hear that from you, Mr. Burnt Orange.”_ Emma’s favourite colour was lime green—she really didn’t have room to judge.

They fell into a long lull of silence. Emma back to her show (Vidal was able to hear the talking now), and Vidal pulled out a hardcopy of a few other files. Nothing UN related.

 _“Hey Eas,”_ his name had him blinking, lowering his papers to stare at his sister. With Emma its always Bro or Big Brother (then cue up the cheeky younger sibling grin as he rolled his eyes).

“Emma,” he replied. Her yellow-hazel eyes watched him from her end, shifting as she traced a path. “What?”

She shook her head suddenly, _“nah. Nothing. Just trying to see if I can spot any greys.”_ Her grin too pointed, too cheeky.

Vidal frowned, “bitch! There’s no fucking grey anywhere! You can comb through my hair when I see you—I fucking swear to god if you say there’s one I know you’ll be lying!”

-

 

**WHERE WERE YOU WHEN THE OVERWATCH ZÜRICH BASE FELL?**

Not when the silence of the news was lifted. But the actual _day_.

 

**Where were you when Overwatch burned?**

 

Vidal had been there.

Right fucking there. So close when that first explosion went off—felt it chill, rock his bones. He’d been out handling the reporters, the ones without the clearance to appear during the summit. The ones that they didn’t have room for. Gabriel had wanted Vidal to distance himself from this event, keep his face out of the public eyes as much as possible.

_Where were you when Overwatch fell?_

Vidal was right fucking there. Body tensing as his ears rang. The cold hand of fear wrapping around his chest, claws digging into his heart. _“GABRIEL!”_ He’d dropped everything; leaving the other agents to evacuation as he booked it.

**_Where were you when Overwatch burned?_ **

He was there.

Panicked, frenzied. All training pushed aside in a single-minded focus to get to Gabriel Rafael Reyes. He’d braved the fire, the smoke. The rubble and broken bodies. Others rushed in for survivors; medical personnel, Agents of both Overwatch and Blackwatch.

 

Vidal was there when the second bomb went off. It’s a tactic, a brutal one. For the most casualties. Set the first one off, then the other gets the first responders. You don’t even see it coming. Vidal didn’t even see it coming.

One moment panic, the next… _pain_. Pain; biting, deep. All consuming. Pain. Pain. **_Pain._**

Nothing.

 

**_Where were you when Gabriel Reyes betrayed Overwatch?_ **

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

~~~~_~~he didn’t.  
he wouldn’t. ~~ _

.

.

.

. ~~~~

 _I was right fucking there._ |


End file.
